


Say They Fear Her

by ialpiriel



Series: Shadows Get Long [7]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: F/F, Female Friendship, Female-Centric, Friendship, Pregnancy, Slow Burn, Teen Pregnancy, Terrorism, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-05-21 15:20:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 26
Words: 84,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6056509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ialpiriel/pseuds/ialpiriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the battle at the Dam, f!courier gets a new assignment from Vulpes: ruin the NCR’s day however she can.</p><p>See author's note for further discussion/clarification of that frankly terrifying tag paragraph.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [crossposts to the fallout kink meme](http://falloutkinkmeme.livejournal.com/4875.html?thread=18466315#t18466315)  
>     
> major warning for violence and gore. the main character has questionable morals and demonstrates such frequently and unequivocally. there’s a torture scene. there is one dubcon scene, late in the fic, involving Lucinda, and a rape and its aftereffects on the victim (who is 17) are mentioned throughout, but the assault itself is never detailed. there is probably a whole bunch of other potentially upsetting content, but all chapters with such content will be clearly labelled at the top, in bolded all caps, before any actual content

**EXTRA CONTENT WARNINGS: None**

 

“It’s not typical for women to be allowed Legionary status, of course.” Vulpes sounds so proud of himself for trotting out rules and regulations, as if she hasn’t heard them all ten thousand times before. “However, in light of your…exemplary service, Caesar has decided some…honorary titles could be arranged.”

“I don’t want honorary titles.” She has enough rank now. She pulls out her pack of cigarettes, plucks one out, closes it, replaces the pack in her pocket and the cigarette between her lips, lights it with a match from another pocket. “Want to go home.” She doesn’t, not really, but she’s tired. She wants to sleep for a week, maybe, and then get back to her old work. Slaughter brahmin and bighorners, scare the boys around the town, take a girl or two under her wing. Back to the boring order of Dog Town. Win over a dog or two, turn them against her husband, see how he does with that.

“Unfortunately–” unfortunately her _ass_ from the way he’s smiling– “Caesar has another assignment for you.”

She nods. Vulpes waits a moment before continuing.

“The NCR has been routed from the Dam, but their presence remains in the west. Caesar wishes you to lead a crusade against them. You will have whatever resources you require.” She can see the twist of his lips at that, a sour taste in his mouth. She tries not to smile. He knows she’s laughing already. That’s how this game is played.

“Thanks,” she says. “To start, I want nine female slaves. Ex-tribals, if you can manage that. The ones whose loyalty you don’t trust. Smart ones, hungry ones, ones who are the only members of their tribe left. At least fifteen years old, but young enough they can still walk. No old ladies.” She takes another drag on her cigarette, blows it away from Vulpes. Pretends she has that much respect for him. “We’ll start there, and I’ll pass up any more requests I might have.”

She’ll have her own contubernium, be a decanus in her own right.

Let them deride her as a woman _then_.

***

Her bird is fledging. She worries about the fact they’ve been in this weather station for three weeks now, the only news of the outside coming with Siri’s more and more infrequent visits-- “There are legionaries being called in from the east,” she had said, a week after the battle at the Dam, “and of course they need all the women they can to serve them.”--worries about what that will do to her bird. Hopefully her requests have been filled, or will be filled soon.

Her bird is happy enough with the situation. Lucinda spends her time laying on her bed, petting her bird. Her bird is starting to pick up human-grooming, too, picks through her hair, _looking_. Spends an equal amount of time picking up and arranging and rearranging the scraps of electronics Lucinda brought up from the bunker.

Meals are three times a day, although a day is questionable at this point. She hasn’t been outside in three weeks. One of the girls new to the Fort comes and takes her bucket outside every two days. She doesn’t even get to leave for that.

She's dozing when the door creaks open and Siri steps through, empty-handed.

“Not mealtime?” Lucinda asks, half-sitting and giving her bird time to hop out of the way

“They wanted me to come tell you--your women are all here now.”

“Oh.” Lucinda swings her legs off her bed, scoops up her bird and settles her back in her nest. She pats her bird’s beak with one finger. “You stay here and don’t cause any trouble,” she murmurs, soft and low. Bends down, pulls on her boots and boot covers, laces both up. Grabs her coat, hauls it on. Three weeks, she hasn’t worn it. The sleeves are still stained, no matter how she’s tried to get the blood out. She pulls her bird glove over the one. At least that side will look less bloody.

Undoes the end of her braid, tugs it tight again--no time to redo the entire thing--re-ties it.

Loops the big red scarf a girl brought her three days ago over her shoulders, lets it hang in the back like a cape, the way the centurions do.

Takes a moment to adjust everything so it sits right, settles her sunglasses on her nose. Straightens up, thumps her heels onto the floor as she does. Fills her space.

“I’m ready,” she tells Siri, grins wide. “Bring me to them.”

***

There are nine women in the tent, from the easy two-by-two headcount. No old ladies, Vulpes passed that on well enough, and they look strong and competent. An assortment of women, too--tall dark-skinned woman with her hair in maybe-braids, arms across her chest and legs stretched out; twiggy woman with a wide round face and proud arched nose, pregnant belly looking out of place on her frame; chubby teenager from down south-ways, with her hair loose; pale scrawny teenager fat with a baby; three women with their shoulders pressed together, one with a blue scarf around her neck, the next with a dice pouch on a cord, the third with some pretty amulet carved out of a rock; girl with cornrows in the corner, eyes dark and wide and mouth a tight line; woman next to her with twitchy hands and eyes you could get lost in.

They narrow their eyes when she steps into the tent. Every single one, scowling, arms tight across their chests. A united front. She wonders if they planned that. The fact she sees some of their eyes darting makes her suspect it.

“My name is Lucinda,” she tells them. “Have any of you ever held a gun?”

Five of them raise their hands--Maybe-Braids, Pregnant Nose-Woman, Rock-Amulet, Cornrows, Twitchy Hands.

“Good. What have you been doing under the Legion?” She drops the tent flap behind her, reaches for the chair in the corner. “You,” she says, pointing to Pregnant Teenager, who looks eight, almost nine months along. There’s two pregnant ones, of course, because she didn’t ask for non-pregnant women and that’s an easy way to take them out of commission. “What did you do?”

“I cooked,” she replies, her voice small. She tucks into herself, under Lucinda's gaze, but keeps her eyes on Lucinda’s face. Sets her jaw, even as her voice and body shrink away.

“A good job,” Lucinda says. Waits a moment. “How long have you been pregnant?”

“Thirty-five weeks.”

“How old are you?” Lucinda narrows her eyes. She’s too young, has to be--

“Seventeen.”

Too young. Doesn’t let the answer hang before she asks more.

“Did you want it?”

The girl jerks upright again, stares at Lucinda. Lucinda takes off her sunglasses, folds them, tucks one arm into the collar of her shirt so they hang. Doesn’t really need them inside the tent anyway.

“No,” the girl finally says. Her voice wavers, but doesn’t break.

“Then I’m sorry.”

The girl looks away, glares, and the other women look between her, Lucinda, and each other.

“What about you?” Lucinda asks Pregnant Nose-Woman. “How long, did you want it?”

“Thirty-two weeks, and yeah, I wanted him. He’s from before the Legion. Had a husband before all this shit.”

“Good.” Lucinda nods. “What did you do for them?”

“Made armor. Not very good, but they didn't trust me with anything bigger or sharper than scissors.” Her mouth twists into a smirk. Lucinda smiles back.

“You good with a machete?”

“Goddamn best.” She raises her chin.

“Glad to hear it.” Lucinda raises her chin in response. “You’ve used a gun before.”

“I’ve hunted animals. Never used one on people.” Her mouth twists into a sneer now. “Assimilated quietly.”

“Same here,” Lucinda says, unloops her scarf. She twists it around her hands, lets the scar and the remnants of her tattoo speak for themselves. “Only got good at it while I was The Courier.”

“That’s _you_.” Loose Hair, in the back corner, as far from the door as she can manage, drops her arms off her chest. Can’t be more than fifteen. Her eyes go wide.

“That’s me,” Lucinda agrees, gives her a big grin, shows teeth. 

Maybe-Braids snorts. Twitchy Hands looks between them, Pregnant Teen’s eyes go wide as she looks back, Blue Scarf and Rock Amulet reach for Dice Pouch’s hands, Dice Pouch weaves her fingers through theirs. Cornrows narrows her eyes, stretches her mouth into a grimace as she looks Lucinda up and down. Pregnant Nose-Woman leans forward, also grinning wide.

“No shit?” she asks, rests her hands on her knees, bends her elbows wide.

“No shit,” Lucinda agrees.

“Well, damn,” Pregnant Nose-Woman murmurs, sits back. Crosses her arms over her chest again, taps one foot. Her face is open, though, and she looks Lucinda up and down. “Then why the hell are you here instead of somewhere else better? How’d they keep you here at this sausagefest for three weeks?”

“For this,” Lucinda replies, sweeps one arm back at the tent flap, catches most of the tent’s occupants in the arc. “They want me in charge of this contubernium, so I’ll stay.”

Loose Hair makes a noise that might be admiration; Maybe-Braids snorts again.

“You’re surviving,” Maybe-Braids says, voice deep and soft. “Don’t pretend.”

Lucinda tips her chin up, looks at Maybe-Braids out of the corner of her eye.

“Never said that wasn’t what I was doing,” she replies.

“I’m not stupid.” Maybe-Braids leans forward, leaves her arms crossed on her chest, tucks her legs back like she might stand. “They aren’t either.” She slants her gaze at Pregnant Teen and Loose Hair and Cornrows and Pregnant Nose-Woman and Twitchy Hands, each in turn. “Don’t act like it.”

Lucinda follows Maybe-Braids’s eyes.

“Understood,” she replies, wrinkles one side of her nose before she squints. “I need to retrieve some things from my base of operations before the battle.” Lucinda stands, unfolds her sunglasses and replaces them on her nose, loops her scarf back over her shoulders. “You three, come with me.” She points at Pregnant Nose-Woman, jerks her thumb at the tent flap, does the same at Maybe-Braids and Dice Pouch. 

Maybe-Braids stands, drops her arms to her sides. She _looms_ in the tent, just a couple inches short of her head banging on the support lines. She turns and offers a hand to Nose-Woman, who accepts it and uses it to haul herself upright, Dice Pouch shakes Blue Scarf and Rock Amulet’s hands out of hers, rearranges her jacket and stands.

All three women walk to the tent flap, huddle together as Lucinda arranges herself a bit more, studies the women still sitting.

“You,” she says, points to Blue Scarf, who looks oldest of who’s still sitting. “You’re in charge until I get back. Stay in this tent and don’t piss anyone off.”

Blue Scarf nods.

“You got it, Boss,” she agrees. Drawls like she’s Lonestar-born, talks just loud enough her voice doesn’t fade into the camp-noise. She stands, lets her shoulders hang loose, lets Rock Amulet catch their fingers together. “You got any other orders?”

“Get comfortable with each other,” Lucinda replies. “You’re going to be seeing a lot of each other.”

“You got it, Boss,” Blue Scarf repeats.

Lucinda turns to leave, but stops before she takes a step. All the occupants of the tent watch as she turns back.

“What’s your name?” she asks.

“You can call me Drummer, Boss.” She folds her hands behind her back, tips her chin up. “Would like to forget the Legion name, if you don’t mind.”

Lucinda nods. 

“Drummer.” Blue Scarf is _Drummer_ , who knows how she got the name.

“That’s me, Boss,” Drummer agrees, drops her chin, makes like she’s going to duck her head, grins as she buried her chin in her scarf.

“I’ll remember,” Lucinda agrees, turns back to the tent flap. “You three, follow me.”

“Yezzum,” Dice Pouch agrees, steps out of the tent first, followed by Lucinda, then Nose-Woman, then Maybe-Braids.

She leads them up toward the Fort, and to weather station, Dice Pouch dropping back behind Nose-Woman and Maybe-Braids both, leaving Nose-Woman at Lucinda’s elbow as they wind across the dam and up the hill. 

“So, shit, you really are the courier,” Nose-Woman keeps up a running commentary, her hands folded together and resting on top of her stomach. She’s still agile, for as heavily pregnant as she is. Keeps up easily. “You, uh, shit, you're not really what any of us thought you’d be, you know? You’re a lot shorter, first off. Was expecting someone who looked like Twist here.” Nose-Woman jerks her thumb at Maybe-Braids. That’s what the hairstyle is--twists. “Big fuckin’, brick house of a woman, right? Not--no offense, but--not some weedy tribal fuck y’know?”

“I’m not that weedy,” Lucinda replies. Digs her hands into her pockets, swings her feet wide as she walks. She’s shorter than all three of the other women--Twist must be over six feet, Nose-Woman has to be over five and a half, same with Dice Pouch-- but she’s not _that_ short. She’s well-fed. She’s not _weedy_.

“Everyone’s weedy when you think you’re gonna get Twist, though,” Nose-Woman points out. “Shi,t man, _I’m_ weedy when you stick me next to her and I ain’t no scrawny little starving tribe remnant. They kept feeding me, ain’t gonna starve out an occupied womb, right? Ain’t gonna kill off two bodies when you can still maybe turn one of ‘em into a soldier or a slave, right? Ain’t no reason to kill off two when you can still get a fresh one outta the other.”

Twist snorts, and so does Lucinda. Nose-Woman takes it as encouragement.

“I mean, shit I heard, uh, the older kid. The real pregnant one?” Lucinda nods when Nose-Woman pauses. “Heard she ain’t got a choice with the kid.”

Lucinda hums, doesn’t say anything about Pregnant Teen, bulls her shoulders wider as they approach the training ring. There are hundreds of new boys here, now, who don’t know who she is. Maybe they’ll respect the scarf, but more likely they won’t.

“Y’know, she’s a good kid.” Nose-Woman continues, gets her hands in on the act. “She cooks real nice, y'know, can do a whole lot with what shitty stuff they’ve been giving us this whole time.”

“Well, rations probably aren’t going to get better,” Lucinda offers. “They’re not doing this to keep us alive.”

Nose-Woman stays quiet for a minute, but Twist laughs, and Dice Pouch snorts.

“How dead they want you?” Twist asks.

“Pretty fucking dead,” Lucinda replies. She can see the man coming before he reaches them, braces for it.

“Hey you!” he yells, points at Lucinda. “Get over here.”

Lucinda doesn’t respond, keeps walking, waves one hand low at her hip to bring Twist and Nose-Woman and Dice Pouch along. Nose-Woman and Twist keep walking, maintain position close behind Lucinda, but Dice Pouch falters.

“Keep walking,” Lucinda growls, turns her head just far enough to bare her teeth at Dice Pouch. “He’s not in charge of you, you’re under my command.”

“Hey!” the man yells again, and people part in front of him. Turn to watch the impending confrontation. He has to be the same age as Pregnant Teen, or maybe Loose Hair. Young. Still a boy, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. “I was talking to you,” he says, steps into Lucinda's way.

“Is that how you talk to your superiors?” Lucinda growls, rolls her voice through the phlegm she can feel gathering in her chest. 

“You’re--” he starts, then sees her scarf. Snaps his mouth shut.

“Get out of my way and don’t harass me again, scout,” Lucinda says, shoves him aside with her shoulder, jostles more than strictly necessary. “Or I'll report you for insubordination, and do you want your word against the Daughter of Mars’?”

“No, uh, sir,” he chokes out, steps out of the way to Twist and Nose-Woman and Dice Pouch.

“Good idea,” Lucinda calls, doesn’t turn to look at him as she steps up to the door of the weather station. The door is unlocked, and she swings it open, waves Twist and Nose-Woman and Dice Pouch inside.

“Nice place you got here,” Nose-Woman offers, looks around. The room stinks like shit, honestly, because the bucket hasn’t been emptied for two days and the bird isn’t particularly _particular_ about where she poops either.

“It does its job,” Lucinda replies, makes a beeline for her bird. She scoops up the nest, and with a little twisting gets it settled into her hood again. She grabs her hat off the table, too, sets it on top her head. Hooks her machete over her belt, and slings her rifle over her shoulder.

“That your bird?” Nose-Woman asks, shifts from foot to foot. “You said you were tribal, right? You from east?”

“Yeah, to all of it,” Lucinda agrees. She checks through her pockets again, watches her own hands as she checks each one, keeps her ears open to keep track of all three women. Dice Pouch leans against the console by the door, Twist leans against the door itself, Nose-Woman walks around the room, touches the walls and the tabletop and the foot of the bed with her fignertips, glances at Lucinda and twist and Dice Pouch every few seconds.

“Is the bird a tribe thing?” Nose-Woman asks.

“Yeah,” Lucinda agrees. Narrows her eyes at Nose-Woman, but keeps her face otherwise blank. “She is.”

“Heard ‘bout your tribe,” Nose-Woman says, voice low and soft. She turns to face Lucinda, keeps her arms at her sides. “Heard what happened to them, long time ago. Ain’t jealous how you went. Hoped we weren't gonna go the same, but we did.”

“Most tribes are learning that standing against the Legion doesn’t get you anywhere.” Lucinda closes the flaps over her pockets, checks that her bowie knife is still secure in its sheath on her thigh. “We weren’t the first, we won’t be the last.”

“Legion doesn’t notice the bird,” Twist says. It might be a question, but the inflection is wrong. Lucinda looks her in the eye, tries to evaluate.

“People raise birds because they’re a bit odd, not because it’s a three-century tribal tradition.”

Twist’s face barely moves, but one corner of her mouth twitches up.

“You take that sort of view on everything?” Nose-Woman asks, putters over to toe at the trapdoor down into the bunker.

“Not everything,” Lucinda replies. “But a fair number of things.”

“And they really don’t know?” Nose-Woman asks.

“A tribe of just women isn’t a tribe,” Lucinda replies. “Legion only knows tribe inheritance for fathers and sons, never thought about grandmothers and mothers and aunts and daughters.”

Against the console, Dice Pouch nods, looks past Twist at the splintering fake-wood panelling.

“Women aren’t people enough to have traditions,” she says, voice quiet. “My mother taught me a few things, but not enough.”

“Born Legion?” Lucidna asks.

Dice Pouch nods.

“She was too, but my grandmother was tribe. Out of Pine Ridge.”

“Them’s my folks too,” Nose-Woman says, grin splitting her face. “Well, we were further west, up into the Sierra Madres. But we probably come from the same folks, somewhere. You heard the stories about--”

Lucinda stiffens at the name _Sierra Madre_ , feels her shoulders hunch before she can stop them. Nose-Woman and Dice Pouch are watching each other, ignoring her, Nose-Woman with her eyes wide and face open, Dice Pouch with open ears and curious eyes. Twist is watching Lucinda though. Sees the twitch. Doesn’t say anything, doesn’t let her face move. Just watches.

Lucinda stares back, meets her gaze steady and silent.

They hold for a long moment, Nose-Woman’s words buzzing in their ears and filling up the silence.

Twist nods, looks away first, levers herself off the door and drops her arms from her chest to shove her hands in her pockets.

“Hey, Dredge,” she says, over Nose-Woman, who’s on to some story about three boys on top of a sugarloaf in Flatwater, whatever the fuck a sugarloaf is. “Talk later. Have things to do.”

“Right, shit, yeah,” Nose-Woman-- _Dredge_ Lucinda thinks, tries to settle that name to her face. “So, Boss, where we off to?” she asks, turns to grin at Lucinda.

“Dredge?” Lucinda asks, checks to make sure.

“Yes ma’am. Coupla the boys took to callin’ me that, ‘cause they weren’t sure where the tribe dredged me up outta, see. I ain’t like the rest of em. Laid down quiet, but won’t quiet down after that. No good at the womanly shit, either. Can patch a hole in a shirt, field dress a buffalo, _ride_ a fuckin’ buffalo if I get the mind to, but I ain’t got the touch for all the real mind-y stuff. Had a husband for that. He got on real well before the Legion, doubt he gets along at all nowadays.” She goes somber for a moment, ducks her head before popping back up, grinning. “But they figure the tribe musta dredged me up outta some river or some shit, since I ain’t like the rest of ‘em, even though I was born and raised with ‘em.”

Lucinda nods.

“What about you?” she asks, turns to Dice Pouch. Dice Pouch shakes her head, crosses her arms over her chest.

“Legion name never sat right, never got a nickname really.”

“Have to call you something,” Lucinda replies. “Drummer, Twist, Dredge. Who are you?”

“Could call her ‘Burn,’ on account of what she did to our dinner last night,” Dredge offers, pats her stomach and sticks her tongue out when Dice Pouch gives her a look.

“Yeah, you can call me Burn,” Dice Pouch says, reaches back to tug her braid over her shoulder. “Good as any other name I’ve ever had.”

“There we go!” Dredge crows, pats Burn on the shoulder. “One of us for real, now.” She looks over to Lucinda. “And what do we call you?”

“‘Boss’ or ‘ma’am’ work pretty well,” Lucinda replies. Adjusts her scarf over her shoulders. Her bird starts squawking and she digs for a handful of gecko jerky. “If you need a name for me, Lucinda works, as does Lucia.”

“Heard that woman earlier call you _Lucy_ ,” Dredge says, leans her weight back on her heels even as she leans forward.

“Siri saved my life,” Lucinda replies, shoves a strip of jerky into her mouth and starts chewing. “She gets special privileges.”

“Ooh, what sort of privileges?” Dredge asks, dances around to Lucinda’s side, a half step behind her, just out of Lucinda’s peripheral vision. Lucinda doesn’t turn to follow her.

“Cut it out,” Lucinda replies, spits jerky into her hand and passes it back to her bird, who quiets down.

“Yes ma’am.” Dredge obeys, settles down, folds her hands behind herself again. “Sorry, ma’am.”

“Don’t have to ‘ma’am’ me when you apologize. We’re good. Don’t do it again.” She pauses. “We should get a move on, though. Losing daylight.”

All three women fall into line behind Lucinda as she breezes out the door. She shoves another strip of jerky into her mouth, starts chewing.

“Dredge, Twist you’ve both said you’re good with rifles, right?”

“Yes ma’am,” Dredge agrees. “Wasn’t the best hunter in the tribe, but I held my own.”

“And what about you, Twist?”

“Used a gun. Not much good. Shot coyotes on my farm if they got too close.”

“Where did you farm?” Lucinda asks. Out in the yard, the boys part as they walk through, drop their eyes in respect.

“NCR-Arizona border. Been Legion five years. Don’t like it much.”

Lucinda nods, doesn’t look back at Twist. Twist is ex-NCR, Dredge is a pregnant tribal, Burn is--who knows, she’s quiet and doesn’t like the Legion, she could be here for any reason. Pregnant Teen is young, Loose Hair is younger, the others are like Burn--nothing makes them obviously a pain in the ass. Yet.

She’ll have to keep an eye on them, see which will be a problem. Dredge doesn’t look like one, so far, and neither do Burn or Drummer, but Twist might still prove to be.

There’s a lot of time left together.

“So, Boss, where you from?” Dredge asks, as they approach the requisitions counter, near Siri’s bar. Siri is elbows deep in glasses and full plates, men laughing and cursing at the bar and the nearby tables. Lucinda flashes her a smile when their eyes meet, and Siri looks away, ginning.

“Tribe traveled,” she replies, steps up to the counter. “Doesn’t matter now,” she says, louder, as she looks the requisition officer in the eye. “I need three machetes and three hunting rifles, and thirty rounds for each rifle.”

“Under whose authority?” the officer asks, wrinkles his nose as he looks at Twist, looming behind Lucinda with her arms crossed over her chest, at Dredge, hovering at Twist’s elbow, picking at her nails and studying the crates behind him, at Burn just to Lucinda’s side, studying the bird in Lucinda's hood.

Lucinda sighs.

“I’m under Vulpes Inculta’s branch of the frumentarii, I’ve just been promoted. Do you need me to call him over here and confirm?”

“That’s not necessary,” the officer says, leans forward on his forearm. Lucinda can smell his breath all the way across the counter. “What's your name?” he asks, leers.

“Lucia, though you might know me better as the Daughter of Mars.” Lucinda leans in, meets his eyes. “Now I would appreciate it if you would follow my orders, officer.”

“Don’t get your panties all in a twist,” the officer replies, steps back. “I’ll do it, fine.” He turns to get the machetes and the rifles, and Dredge leans in to talk to Lucinda again.

“Where all’d you travel?”

“Old Matamoros, north to the edge of the Great Lakes,” Lucinda replies.

“Your tribe adopt you?” Dredge asks, steps around Twist so she’s next to Lucinda. Twist takes a half step back, gives them room.

“My mother. East Lonestar born.”

“Never met anyone born in your tribe,” Dredge replies. “Had a few girls leave for one of yours, but ain’t met anyone born to it.”

“Well, now you have.”

The requisition officer turns around, carries three machetes by loops in one hand three rifles by straps in the other.

“Here’s your equipment,” he says, drops it on the counter. “You need anything else.”

“Ammunition,” Lucinda reminds him, taps the magazine on one of the rifles.

He grabs three cardboard boxes from under the counter, drops them next to the rifles.

“Is that all?” he asks again.

“That is, yeah,” Lucinda agrees. She gathers up the rifles, passes one to each of the women behind her, then passes them a machete and a box each. “Well, unless you have .45-70 in stock.”

He grabs and drops another box.

“That’s all,” Lucinda says, nods. Turns her back on him to survey her team.

Dredge already has the rifle slung over her shoulder, the box wedged carefully into the waistband of her pants as she adjusts everything else, the machete slung from a belt loop. Twist has her gear arranged the same, though her ammunition is tucked into a pocket on her coat instead. Burn has her rifle strap diagonal across her chest, but her machete in easy reach. Good enough, they can work on that on the way to the ranch.

“Let’s go,” she says, waves them back toward the gate. “Hope you don’t mind the river.”

“Shit, I love rivers,” Dredge laughs. “Can we go swimming?”

“If you can convince Lucullus to let you jump off the side of the raft, sure.” Lucinda snorts, and Dredge laughs again, big and loud and real. “Watch for lakelurks.”


	2. Chapter 2

**CONTENT WARNING: Mild gore**

 

The shack is still empty, at least. She almost expected there to be people moved in, trying to escape the Legion. Too close to Cottonwood, maybe.

Their escort waits outside, and Twist and Dredge and Burn follow her into the shack.

“You lived here?” Twist asks. Rests her hand on the doorframe, looks up and studies the ceiling.

“Sure, for the last few months.” She hauls one of the footlockers full of food out from under the bed, shoves it away. Drags the other one out as Dredge settles herself on the table in the corner. Burn leans next to her.

“Heard about Strix,” Twist says.

“Yeah?” Lucinda asks, yanks up three loose floorboards, flops on her stomach to squirm under the bed. Her bird squawks, and she makes a shushing noise. “Heard he got promoted back east.”

“Yeah,” Twist says.

“So what was the point of bringing him up?” Lucinda asks, jackknifing so she can get one eye on Twist without moving from under the bed. She shoves her arm down through the gap made by the opened floorboard. Feels a beetle crawl across her knuckles as she fumbles the canvas sack up.

“You keeping this one?” she asks, jerks her thumb at the door, indicates the man standing out by the water tank.

“Don’t think so, unless Vulpes decides he can piss me off.” Drags the sack out from under the bed, dusts off her arm. Runs her palm over the bag, counts to make sure all three gold bars are still there without opening the bag and revealing them. “Which I wouldn’t put past him.”

Dredge laughs.

“You guys really hate each other that much?”

“Shit, yeah. He’s an ass. Thinks I’m out of line.” She stands up, goes to dig through the lockers against the wall for anything worth taking along. All three sets of eyes follow her. “I don’t give a _shit_ what he thinks about my place in the Legion.” Her fingers slip over a cardboard cover, shoved behind a tangle of medical braces and surgical tubing. She gets her fingers between the cover and the age-soft pages and yanks, pulls out the whole wad of medical equipment at the same time she pulls out the textbook. Shakes the tangle to the floor so she can read the cover, then tosses the book next to the canvas sack with a loud _crack_. Burn jumps, Twist twitches, Dredge doesn’t react. There’s another book still in the locker, and she digs that one out too, tosses it--more quietly, a _thump_ this time instead--on top of the other. “If you three want to go through those footlockers, they're full of food. Take what you want, leave what you don’t.”

“How long’s the food been there?” Dredge asks. “‘Cause it’s been, what, three weeks since the battle at the Dam? and if you were here for months before that, some of that shit might be ancient already.”

“It’s not that perishable,” Lucinda replies, bundles the canvas sack tighter around the gold bars. “It’s mostly gecko or bighorner jerky and dried fruit, with some NCR emergency rations thrown in for variety.” She crams the canvas sack into her backpack, sits back on her heels as she stacks the books on top of the bars.

“What’s the stuff that isn’t those?” Burn asks, squats next to Lucinda to crack open the closer footlocker. “Ooh, Fancy Lads.” She digs out a box of snack cakes, half-turns to toss it up to Dredge, who cackles and rips first the box, and then the plastic wrapper around one cake, open. She crams the cake into her mouth while Twist snorts and shakes her head.

“A lot of stuff like that, yeah,” Lucinda agrees. “Pass me that box, would you?” She points to a handmade wood box, the word JERKY branded onto the lid.

Burn passes over the box, and Lucinda shoves that in her bag too. 

“Why are you sharing?” Twist asks.

“Because I don’t plan on coming back here,” Lucinda replies. Crams a slice of jerky from her pocket into her mouth. “It’s going to rot or mold otherwise, and if one of you will eat it, that’s better.” She cinches her backpack tight, stands and removes her bird and the nest from her hood--sets them on the bed; the bird starts squawking--and swings the backpack over her shoulders. She replaces the nest a moment later, spits the half-chewed jerky into her hand and passes it back to the bird.

“Y’know, Boss, that’s kinda gross,” Dredge says, eyebrows rising. There’s powdered sugar caked on her lips and dusted over chin, and she’s clutching her third cake in hand. Twist reaches over to pull the box out of her hands, and Dredge lets it go without a fight.

“Well, I’d feed her carrion, but I don’t have any handy.” Lucinda sets her hands on her hips, tosses her shoulders back.

Dredge makes a gagging sound, follows it by shoving the entire third cake into her mouth at once.

“Now _that_ is gross,” Dredge says. The words are gooey, and she sprays crumbs when she talks. She swallows hard and wiggles her fingers at Twist, who tucks the box of cakes beneath her elbow, against her side. “You feed her carrion normally?”

“Mostly been jerky, lately, because I’ve been in that weather station so long.”

“Yeah, but usually? You feed her carrion when you’re out of the weather station?” Dredge scoots closer to Twist, reaches across her without looking away from Lucinda, tries to grab the box of cakes. Twist moves it out of her grasp. “Cause I ain’t gonna hang around you if you smell like rotting meat, Boss, no offense.”

Burn stands and steps to Twist’s side, and Twist passes her the box. 

“I mostly feed her crickets and locusts.” Lucinda drops her shoulders, watches as Burn tucks the box against _her_ side, further away from Dredge, who is now leaning on Twist’s shoulder. “Rotten carrion is not my first choice.”

“Don’t have to be _yours_ to be _hers_ ,” Dredge replies, finally turns away to lean around Twist and grab at where she thinks the box of cakes is. “Hey, where’d they go?”

Burn holds the box up, then tucks it into her armpit as she unwraps a cake and shoves the entire thing in her mouth.

“I was eating those,” Dredge pouts. 

Lucinda snorts, squats back down to flip open the footlocker again. She tosses another box of cakes to Dredge, who snags them and shoves them into her waistband.

“I can’t believe you like those things. They taste like cardboard and radiation,” she says, looks at Burn and Twist. “What about you two? Is there anything you want here?”

“No,” Twist replies.

“I didn’t see anything I was interested in, no,” Burn agrees. She passes the box back to Twist, who takes and unwraps the last cake before tossing the box onto the table behind Dredge. 

“Then we’re done here.” Lucinda snaps the footlocker closed and stands. “Let’s pick up our escort, and head back.”

Twist is the last one out of the shack, trailing behind the other three women. She already has her rifle at the ready, scanning the horizon, even as Dredge laughs and swings her machete loosely at her side. Lucinda slings her rifle off her shoulder and into her hand, and Burn tucks her arms over her chest.

***

“Where are you from? All of you,” Lucinda asks. Lucullus stands and their escort sits at the back of the raft, Lucinda sits at the very front of a crate, Dredge leaning against it, Twist and Burn settled on opposite sides of the raft, across from each other. “Not where you were born, where were you Legion?”

“Processed through Dog Town,” Dredge says. “Ain’t been Legion long enough to have a real place. Down on the lower levels, right, with all the rest of the slaves. Mostly just kept us all together until they could redistribute us out to where we were supposed to be. Kept us busy making armor and shit while we waited.”

Lucinda nods, looks to Twist.

“Flagstaff,” she says, doesn’t elaborate. Goes back to shredding the piece of cloth she found on the ground at Cottonwood, peeling thread form thread and piling them together.

“And what about you?” she asks Burn, digs out a cigarette and her box of matches. She lights the cigarette as Burn replies.

“Also from Flagstaff. Was born in the Sangre de Cristos, but my mother was moved to Flagstaff when I was five or so.”

“Who are the other two women you were sitting with? Drummer and…?” _God_ she’s needed a cigarette. She can feel herself unjangling as the nicotine goes to work.

“Runner,” Burn says. “She’s Flatwater born. Whole tribe of runners, Legion kept my Runner carrying messages around town.” She picks at her fingernails, doesn’t look up.

“Where, Flatwater?” Dredge asks. She’s fiddling with the side flap on the box, picking at the failing glue with her chewed-up fingernails. “Like, Crater Flatwater, or Platte Stretch Flatwater, or Chimney Flatwater, or are we talking that place with all the balance-y rocks out near Pine Ridge?”

“Platte Stretch, as far as I can tell.” She drops her hands. “I never asked, though.” She flicks her eyes at Lucullus and the escort, though she doesn't turn her head. “I figured it didn’t matter much.”

Lucinda nods, breathes out. Breathes in, breathes out, takes another drag on her cigarette. Rock-Amulet’s name is Runner. Will be good for carrying messages, to scout ahead, most likely, and maybe hunting food to supplement their likely-insufficient rations. She’ll need evaluating, because even if the Legion kept her on her feet, the Legion still isn’t tribe the way the middle of Flatwater or Lonestar or Dakota is tribe. Not the way this mission will be tribe. Running messages isn’t the same as walking all day. All these women are going to need to be trained into being any good at walking.

“Wouldn’t matter, no,” Lucinda agrees. “Fucking tribals,” she adds, presses her calf against Dredge’s shoulder, and Dredge leans into it.

“Hah, yeah,” Dredge agrees, snorts. “Ain’t got the first idea of how great the Legion really is.”

Lucinda laughs, low and rough in her chest, and Burn grins down at her lap. Twist’s mouth twitches, but still can't really be called a smile.

***

Drummer nods and salutes when they arrive back at the tent. Burn goes to sit with Runner, and once Lucinda nods at Drummer in acknowledgement, she breaks to go sit with them. Twitchy Hands follows after a moment, settles into the now-square of bodies.

Twist and Dredge settle off to the side, on a pair of chairs apart from the others.

Pregnant Teen and Cornrows and Loose Hair all sit together, talking. Pregnant Teen keeps her hands on her stomach, wraps them around herself as Lucinda steps further into the tent and closes the flap behind herself, approaches on quiet feet.

“Hey,” Lucinda says, voice with just enough roughness to warm it. “What’s your name?” she asks, takes off her sunglasses to look Pregnant Teen in the eye.

“I, uh.” Pregnant Teen looks her in the eye for a moment, then looks away. Draws down her eyebrows and half-squints at the crack of light under the tent wall. Doesn’t respond.

“Born Legion?” Lucinda asks, sits down. Loose Hair scoots away, to give her room to join the circle.

“No,” Pregnant Teen responds. “Born tribe.”

“Where?” Lucinda asks. 

“Canyonlands.”

“Long ways from where you were born,” Lucinda murmurs. Watches the other two girls--Cornrows is twisting beads on a string, Loose Hair is holding something behind her leg so Lucinda can’t see it. Lucinda looks back over to Pregnant Teen.

“I don’t remember it,” Pregnant Teen says, voice soft. She presses her hands to her belly. “I was three years old when we joined.”

Lucinda hums, first, pauses before she speaks again.

“It’s a shame,” she says. Cornrows looks at her, narrows her eyes, grimaces like she’s trying to fit Lucinda's words somewhere in her head. Pregnant Teen gives a tiny, hesitant nod. Loose Hair looks at all three with wide eyes. “I know some things. I can't teach you everything, but I can teach you a few things.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Pregnant Teen says, but she doesn’t sound like she means it.

“I mean it,” Lucinda says. “The Legion did you and everyone else in this tent wrong, and I’m not going to pretend they didn’t.” Lucinda turns, stands, dusts off her pants. “If you wouldn't mind coming with me, I need to go visit someone and I’d like to have you along.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Pregnant Teen agrees, and takes Lucinda's offered hand. She waves her fingers at Loose Hair and Cornrows, and Cornrows nods and moves so she’s sitting across from Loose Hair.

Pregnant Teen Follows her out of the tent, past Drummer, Runner, Burn, and Twitchy Hands, who are rolling dice next to a number board drawn in the dirt, past Dredge and Twist sitting together by the door, voices low but not stopping even as Lucinda walks close.

The two of them wind past the training yard--one of the boys even salutes at her, and she nods in acknowledgement--and over to Siri’s bar.

It’s the middle of the afternoon, so there’s only one ‘patron’, at one of the tables nearer the fire, and Siri is leaning on the countertop, rubbing her eyes and sighing.

“Hey, Siri,” Lucinda murmurs, slides onto a stool. She glances at Pregnant Teen, pats the stool next to herself. “How would you like a different job?”

“Depends,” Siri replies, turns her head just far enough to get one eye on Lucinda. “How many legionaries am I going to have to pour drinks for?”

“Absolutely none,” Lucinda replies, leans forward. “We need a doctor. Vulpes only brought me nine of the ten women I asked for. I think I can make a good case for having you come along, especially since there are more doctors in the area they can draft.” Lucinda leans forward more, drops her voice low. “We have two pregnant women, we need a doctor. With what we’re supposed to be doing, we’ll need a doctor for more than just births, too.”

Siri leans back, drops her hands from her face. Lucinda sits back, too, folds her fingers around the hem of her shirt. After a moment, she reaches up, removes her sunglasses, and hooks them over her shirt collar.

“Don't you flash those big blue eyes at me,” Siri replies, grins as she turns around to grab a pitcher of water. She pours two glasses, sets them in front of the other women. “If you can convince him, I’ll come. If you can’t, I’ll…” she trails off, looks toward the arena. There are dogs yelping, and someone yells, and then there’s a scream. The yelping stops, replaced by growls and barks, the snap of a bone and tear of flesh and a long, human wail. “I’ll manage,” she finally finishes, looks back down at her countertop. Presses her palms into the splintery wood, then her fingertips.

“Okay,” Lucinda agrees, reaches up, brushes her fingertips across Siri’s knuckles before she pulls back, casts a speedy glance at Pregnant Teen. “By the way, Siri, this is, uh.” Lucinda pauses. “Well, she didn’t give me her name. But she’s part of my team, and I wanted you to meet each other.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Siri murmurs, holds out her hand. Pregnant Teen carefully takes it, and they shake. “My name is Siri, I’m a doctor here, and maybe along with you if Lucy’s plan goes alright.”

“Lucy?” Pregnant Teen asks, voice faint, eyebrows rising.

“She’s the only one who gets to call me that,” Lucinda replies, picks up her glass and takes a swig. “It’s Lucinda to you.”

“Yes ma’am,” Pregnant Teen responds, grins down at the countertop. Lucinda looks over to her, grins too, tries to cover it up with another drink.

“If you’d like to stay here with Siri while I go talk to Vulpes, I’m sure you’re welcome.”

Lucinda and Pregnant Teen both look over to Siri, who nods before her eyes focus on the body being dragged out of the arena, now that the commotion has died down. 

“Stay here, I’ll be right back,“ Siri murmurs, adds, “If any men come over here, do what they ask. You should be alright because you’re--” she manages half a wave in the general direction of Pregnant Teen’s torso before she pauses, steps around the counter, draws her eyebrows together as she tries to figure what’s happening. Antony drags two dogs out of the arena by their scruffs, and another body is pulled out of the arena, making pitiful noises. “Lucy, if you wouldn’t mind waiting for a moment.”

“Sure,” Lucinda agrees, stands and ducks past Siri to take Siri’s place behind the counter, as Siri starts toward the mess of people.

“Is she really a doctor?” Pregnant Teen whispers, once Siri is gone into the cluster of people.

“Not quite,” Lucinda replies. “Almost, and the closest thing they had here for a long time.”

“I didn’t think they'd teach women to do things like that,” Pregnant Teen replies. “But maybe that was just in the town I was in.”

Lucinda shakes her head. “Captured. New Mexico. Legion interrupted her training.”

“But you’re going to--” Pregnant Teen stops talking, presses her lips tight, studies the ground next to the counter.

“You can talk to me,” Lucinda replies, raises one eyebrow. Someone screams from the knot of people, and she cranes her neck. A garble of words in Siri's voice follows. “What were you going to say?” she asks, turns her attention back to the girl.

“She’s not a real doctor, but you still want her along to watch me and--” she pauses.

“Dredge,” Lucinda offers.

“You want her to come help me and Dredge have babies?”

“Yeah,” Lucidna agrees. “There are already a handful of tribals in the group, and women old enough to have had children or bene present for the birth of other children.” Lucinda picks up Siri’s rag, twists it through her fingers. “I want here there to tell us if one of you is bleeding too much, and to count baby toes if that’s what’s needed. I’m not expecting her to actually deliver a baby.”

“So who’s going to?” Pregnant Teen asks.

“You, probably. We’ll be there for you, though. We’ll help, all of us who can.”

Pregnant Teen looks away, hunches her shoulders up.

“It’ll be alright, kid.” Lucinda leans in. “You’ll be alright.”

The girl nods, but can’t look at Lucinda.

Siri comes back, after a long minute of silence between Lucinda and the girl. Her hands are covered in blood, and her rag dress is smeared in it.

“Two slaves against the dogs. Neither slave made it.” She doesn’t look at Lucinda or Pregnant Teen.

Lucinda picks up the pitcher, and Siri holds out her hands so Lucinda cna rinse them. Lucinda passes over the rag once they're reasonably clean.

“I’m going to go talk to Vulpes,” Lucinda murmurs, lenas her hip on the countertop. “I'll be back as soon as I can be.”

“Good luck,” Siri replies, turns to watch the crowd disperse form in front of the arena. Two other slaves are hauling away the bodies. “Tell me, whatever his decision is.”

“I will,” Lucinda agrees, turns to head to the top of the hill.

***

Vulpes is in what used to be Caesar’s tent, maps spread across all available surfaces. A praetorian and a dog sit in one corner, the praetorian sharpening his machete on a whetstone, the dog watching Lucinda walk across the center of the tent, her head high, her shoulders back.

“Vulpes Inculta,” she greets the man in question, his back turned to the entrance.

“Hello, courier,” he replies. His voice still makes her skin crawl.

“You only gave me nine of the ten women I requested. I have a specific request for the tenth.”

“Then speak,” he replies. Still doesn't look up from his maps. He has a point marked with one finger, another finger in an open book next to the map.

“Siri, the woman at the bar.”

“The one with medical training?” Vulpes asks. Pauses. “You request her?”

“Yes,” Lucinda replies. “With two pregnant women, and the nature of our assignment, I want her as the tenth member. There are several other doctors in the Mojave, if you need recommendations of who to bring back here to fill her place.”

Vulpes looks up, turns. Lucinda can’t see his eyes behind the tinted goggles, but his mouth draws tight.

“Leave a list of names and locations, and your request is granted.”

Lucinda nods, and digs for a pencil and paper in her pockets.

***

“You’re with us,” Lucinda says, bounces up to Siri’s counter. Pregnant Teen has a plate of roasted brahmin in front of her, sliced yucca fruits arranged next to it, half an apple to round out the plate. “Request has been granted.” She grinning, wide and easy, and Siri breaks into a grin too.

“What should I bring?” she asks, turns to look at her workspace. Dusts her hands across the front of her dress, scowls down at them when they come away with faint red streaks.

“Whatever doctoring things you have,” Lucinda instructs, leans on the counter. “And any extra clothes. Anything you want to keep, that doesn’t weigh too much.”

“I don’t have anything that weighs much,” Siri replies. “Am I--are we going right now?”

“As soon as possible. You should come back with us, and then we’ll see how quickly we can get everyone else arranged and moving. We’ll be leaving tomorrow, most likely, with the sun going down.” Lucinda nods toward the sunset, where it’s turning the sky purple. “So we’ll spend tonight here, getting arranged, and then we’ll be moving before the sun is up tomorrow morning.”

Siri nods, turns to grab her doctor’s bag. The leather is cracking, and one of the handles has been both repaired and reattached with duct tape.

“I’m ready to go,” she says, hefts her bag higher in one hand. She grins, after a moment, and Lucinda grins back.

“Hey, Little Bird,” Lucinda says, directs it at Pregnant Teenager. “Let’s go. You can finish eating back at the tent, we'll all eat.”

“Little Bird?” she asks, even as she stands and picks up her plate.

Lucinda startles, stares for a moment.

“Sorry, name I picked up a long time ago as an endear--” she stops. “Is there a name you’d rather go by?”

Pregnant Teen ducks her head, shuffles her feet around in the dirt. Looks bashful.

“I like that one,” she says.

“Little Bird?” Lucinda asks, raises one eyebrow. Turns to go back to the tent, waves the other two along, urges Siri to go in front of her as she walks at--Little Bird’s--side.

“Well, maybe not all of it,” Little Bird says. Rests one hand on her stomach, balances her plate on her other hand. 

“Birdy?” Lucinda asks. “You look like you could be a ‘Birdy,’ with that nose.”

“It’s not a birdy nose,” Siri responds. “That’s the sort of adjective you keep for that other woman you left with, earlier, the pregnant one.”

“Dredge,” Lucinda agrees. “Fair enough.” She surveys Birdy’s face, squints a little. “But it’s a cute name, and a cute nose.”

Birdy laughs, has to turn her head.

“I like it,” she says. “It’s a good name.”

Lucinda laughs and smiles, digs her hands into her pockets and hums to herself as they walk.


	3. Chapter 3

**CONTENT WARNING: Discussion of home abortion methods**

 

Cornrows follows last, three steps off the outside of the approximate column. 

Twitchy Hands leads, on the other side.

Neither volunteered names over dinner, although everyone else had gotten acquainted by new names--Dredge had laughed when Drummer pulled off her scarf and shook it out, revealed it to be a baby blanket; Birdy and Dredge had sat next to each other, occasionally poking each others’ bellies, Dredge laughing in delight and Birdy in disgust when Dredge’s baby decided to press its (Dredge insists _his_ ) foot out her side; Siri and Twist had sat together in silence, except to introduce themselves, Runner and Burn had used each others’ names until they’d turned into nonsense, Loose Hair had pulled out a camera--a big boxy thing with a missing flashbulb, cracked and duct taped back together--and had summarily been named ‘Photo’ to the tune of her furious blushing.

Cornrows stayed in the corner and watched, Twitchy Hands next to her, both silent.

They don’t talk out here on the road, either, but they watch each other from the corners of their eyes, move in a sort of off-kilter tandem that almost has a rhythm to it. They must know each other. Must know each other _well_.

“Hey,” she calls to Cornrows, steps two steps across the back of the column, so she’s a step and a half from the girl. “What’s your name?” she asks.

“Watch,” Cornrows replies, low and soft like she’s used to answering to someone. Takes a moment before she tips her chin up, watches Lucinda from the corner of her eye. Keeps her hand close to the machete at her hip--refused a rifle, took the .44 revolver instead.

“Watch. And where are you from?”

“All over.”

“Tribal?”

“Legion.”

Lucinda huffs, half-smiles.

“Not common for the Legion.”

“I’m not common,” Watch agrees. Lucinda nods, studies everyone's backs. Dredge is laughing about something, shoves Twist’s shoulder; Siri is boxed in by Birdy on one side and Photo on the other; Burn walks two steps behind Dredge, leaning int Drummer’s shoulder to giggle every time Dredge laughs; Runner leads the column, a half step off and two steps ahead of Twitchy Hands.

“Why are you here, Watch?” Lucinda asks, stop walking and turns to face Watch. Watch stops a step ahead, turns around.

“The men didn’t like me,” she replies.

“That’s not a reason,” Lucinda fires back. “Dog Town loved me and yet here I am, they hated others but they're still there.” She takes a half-step closer, edges herself into Watch’s space. “Why are you here, Watch?”

“Rumors they couldn’t prove but believed anyway,” Watch replies. She crosses her arms. Lucinda leans back on one foot, crosses her arms too. Studies Watch--her face, her hair, her shoulders, her arms, her hands. Narrows her eyes as she considers the possibilities.

“Theft,” she finally says.

Watch shakes her head, but smiles.

“Get more creative,” she says.

“Huh,” Lucinda snorts, turns and begins walking again. Slows her steps so Watch walks at her side. “If you’d done anything much worse, they'd have crucified you.”

“If they could trace it back to me,” Watch replies. She doesn’t turn, just flicks her eyes at Lucinda as she digs her hands into her pockets

“Someone must have traced it back, or you wouldn’t be here.”

“Maybe something happened a week ago and they thought this would make a better example of me than crucifying me.”

Lucinda hums, digs out a cigarette and her matchbox. Gives Watch another considering look.

“Who did you kill?” she asks around the cigarette as she lights it. Takes and holds a drag.

“Boy tried to touch me.”

Lucinda nods, exhales.

“It was an _accident_ ,” Watch continues, twist of her mouth and down-draw of her eyebrows telling a different story. “Enough suspicion they wanted rid of me.”

“What sort of accident?”

“Tripped and slashed his own throat open with his machete. A real shame, when they go that young.”

“How old was he?”

“Does it matter?” Watch bares her teeth. Up ahead, Burn laughs about something, loud enough to startle Siri, who freezes for a moment before her shoulders go soft again and she keeps moving.

“Just curious. Not saying he deserved it less.”

Watch looks over at Lucinda, stay silent, but the gears are turning in her head. Lucinda meets her gaze, steady, even, doesn't look away as they keep walking and she keeps smoking.

“He was my age,” Watch finally says.

“Boys that age are always shitheads,” Lucinda agrees, finally looks away. “I’m glad to have you here.”

Watch grunts.

Lucinda speeds up her steps, weaves past the others until she’s walking next to Twitchy Hands, on the outside of the column.

“What’s your name?” she asks. Doesn’t look at Twitchy Hands, just keeps smoking.

Twitchy Hands pulls down the bandana over her mouth--some novelty shit, a slobbering mouth full of dog’s teeth printed over it at an angle so she can double it over in a triangle and have the mouth show--and grimaces.

“Call me Tooth.”

“Because of the bandana?” Lucinda asks.

“Yeah,” Tooth agrees, smiles. Her walking pace is steady enough that Lucinda falls into it easy.

“Where’d you pick it up?”

“Road somewhere, decade ago by now.” She shrugs, picks at one frayed-and-hemmed edge of the bandana.

“Tribal?”

“Yeah.” She nods, juts her chin out and wobbles it back and forth, like she’s gargling marbles. She spits a moment later, a wide arc out to her left, away from the column. Runs her tongue along the backs of her teeth, gives the horizon a considering look.

“From where?” Lucinda follows her eyes. There’s a single joshua tree topping a hill, off in the distance, could almost look like a person.

“Long ways from here.” She slants her eyes at Lucinda.

“Long ways in particular?” Lucinda raises her eyebrows, slants a look back.

Tooth shakes her head.

Lucinda lets that hang, keeps pace with Tooth as she finishes her cigarette

“How do you and Watch know each other?”

“Came in together.”

“That all the longer you’ve known each other?”

“Yeah.” Tooth goes quiet, and Lucinda does too.

“Why are you here, Tooth?” Lucinda asks, as she starts a second cigarette.

“When you talk, they want you to praise every baby hair on their chins as being the greatest and most powerful baby hair you’ve ever seen. Some of us talk too damn much,” Tooth tips her head, rolls her neck and shoulders back toward Dredge. “And some of us are too damn quiet.” 

“I take it you’re the second?” Lucinda raises her eyebrow. 

“I guarantee you the only person in this outfit better at being silent than I am is Watch, Boss.”

“What did you do in your tribe?” Lucinda asks.

“Hunted, mostly. When we’d fight, I’d follow behind.”

“Vulture?” Lucinda twitches her cigarette between her fingers, shakes the ash off the tip. 

“That’s tribe. Dunno,” Tooth replies.

“Sees a lot of death,” Lucinda clarifies.

“Mmm. Yeah. Good a name as any.” Tooth nods once, then tugs the bandana up over her mouth again.

Lucinda takes that as her cue, breaks to walk next to Runner.

“You’re doing an awful lot of moving,” Runner says by way of greeting.

“There's an awful lot of people to meet still.” Lucinda holds out the pack of cigarettes, and Runner waves it away. “Burn said you’re Platte Stretch Flatwater. That true?”

“Sure is.”

“How long have you been Legion? You on my end of time, or are you on Dredge’s?”

Runner chuckles. She’s got longer legs, is harder to keep up with. Must be doing some maneuver so she doesn't gain ground over the others too quickly.

“Try Twist.”

“Five years?”

“Or so.”

“What’d you lose?” Lucinda asks. Keeps her voice forward, and Runner follows suit.

“They brought thirty in, of a hundred and forty. That’s what I lost.”

“What thirty?”

“Thirty you’ve never met, Bird.”

“Fair,” Lucinda laughs. “Why are you here, then?”

“Me and Burn and Drummer. Women can’t have friends that close.” Runner crosses her left arm over her chest, holds up two fingers on her right hand, taps her fingertips on either side of her mouth. “Not natural, who knows what sort of sedition it’ll lead to.”

Lucinda snorts and ducks her head.

“Long as it doesn’t get in the way of work, I don’t care what you three get up to in your off time.”

“Dredge says you and the Doc are together the same way.” Runner slants her eyes over, keeps her face forward. Drops her arms so they swing loose again.

“We’re not,” Lucinda replies. Digs her teeth into the filter of her cigarette. Why the fuck does this keep coming up. Is she going to have to have a _Talk_ with Dredge to get her to cut it out?

“Glad to have the score straight, then.” Runner bobs her head. “You oughta spend some time with the real young one. She wouldn’t shut up about how great you are, all yesterday and the day before and also the preceding six fucking days.”

“Fuck,” Lucinda murmurs around her cigarette.

Runner laughs, and Lucinda drops back to walk next to Dredge and Twist.

***

“Mmm. Siri. Doc.”

Siri looks up from where she’s inventorying her doctor’s bag. Lucinda stands in front of her, off to one side, hands folded behind her back. Keeps the textbooks hidden, even if it’s straining her arms and her bird is unhappy with being jostled.

“Are you going to call me ‘Doc’ now too?”

“I’ll call you whatever you want me to.” She swings the books out from behind her back, thumps them hard into her hands. It’s a stretch, they’re both thick books, and they don’t fit nicely across her palms. She waggles them at Siri, won’t show the front covers. “I brought you a present.”

“Oh?” Siri scoops up her supplies and shoves them back into her bag in a haphazard mess, before she stands, then leans back down to beat dust off her shins. 

“Yeah,” Lucinda agrees, flips the books around, first one way, then the other, so they rest against her breastbone, balanced on her hands and wrists. Siri stands and rests the backs of her wrists on her hips, surveys the books. “I remembered what you said. I couldn’t find you an actual doctor, but I thought maybe these were a close second.”

Siri holds out her hands, and Lucinda gently sets the books in them. Siri turns them, looks the mover, doesn’t say anything. Lucinda bounces on the balls of her feet, tries to listen for the rest of the team so she can stop if they can see.

“Are they alright? Are they the right books?” Lucinda asks. “They looked medical and I couldn’t understand anything in the first chapter or so,” she laughs, ducks her head, laughs, bounces on the balls of her feet. “So I thought maybe you could use them since you at least had some early doctoring education.”

“They’re perfect, Lucy, thank you.” Siri bends over, sets the books next to her bag, takes a step toward Lucinda to close the distance.

Wraps her arms over Lucinda’s shoulders, presses her cheek to the top of her head. It takes Lucinda moment to reciprocate, wrap her arms around Siri’s waist and lean in, but she does, stands on tiptoe so they lean their weight into each other. They stand in silence for a minute, Siri breathing the dust and sweat and warmth of Lucinda’s hair, Lucinda breathing the dust and hydra and sweat of Siri’s third-hand shirt.

***

“Excuse me, ma’am, uh, Boss Lucinda?”

Lucinda turns around. It’s Photo, who hasn’t spoken to her yet, just clung to Siri until Siri was visibly uncomfortable, and had suggested something to the effect of ‘if you want Lucy to notice you, you should go talk to her.” She had pretended not to hear, had continued feeding her bird and had started humming to herself. Now that Photo’s approached, though--

“Yeah?” she asks. Stays sitting. Her bird pecks at her hand, and she has to turn back to bop her on the head. “Oy, behave.” She passes a cricket to the bird before she looks back up to Photo, squints against the sunset. “Here, come around my other side.” She waves, turns as she gestures Photo to sit down to her left, instead of standing at her right. “Now, what d’you need?”

“I, uh, I just wanted to tell you I’ve heard all about what, uh, happened in the Mojave, and um, I’m, I’ve, uh, I’ve really wanted to meet you.” She fidgets with the fraying sleeves on her jacket, pinches them between her fingertips and the meat of her palm, twists her wrists backward and forward.

Lucinda smiles at her.

“I’m glad to meet you too, Photo. Where are you from?”

“Arizona. Just a little town off the road, nowhere interesting or important, not like all the others from Flagstaff and Dog Town.”

“And why are you here?”

“I don’t know, ma’am, I mean, I wanted to meet you but I don’t know why they decided I should come here with you for real, instead of just seeing you go by some time.” Photo keeps fidgeting, keeps looking away and glancing back at Lucinda, color rising to her cheeks.

Lucinda grunts, and her bird grabs her finger, tries to pull her around. Lucinda shakes her off, slips her a grasshopper.

“Where did you pick up the camera? Can you use it?”

“Yeah! I found it about a year ago, and a bunch of film that was still good, which is really amazing since it lasted through the war, and I’ve got a roll I need to have developed, but I’m not sure where I can get the chemicals I need to do that. I’ve got four more rolls of film with me, and I want to take a lot of pictures. It’s so pretty out here, without a town around.”

Lucinda looks past Photo, to where the glow of Vegas is visible just over the horizon, a sodium yellow halo against the darkening blue-purple of the east.

“It is,” Lucinda agrees, switches her eyes back to Photo. She reaches for her sunglasses--feels bare without them--stops when she remembers night is falling. “But believe me, you’ll get tired of dirt soon enough.”

“But there are a lot of things to take pictures of!” Photo exclaims, bounces in place. Pulls her camera out of her bag, waves it around. Lucinda raises both eyebrows.

“Oh?” she asks.

“Yeah!” Photo holds the camera in both hands, starts pointing as she talks. “There’s Dredge and Twist over there, and there’s that really pretty sunset against the mountains, and there's the Doc reading, and I could take pictures of your bird maybe, and maybe you too? But I can also take pictures of the way Watch just disappears into the landscape, or maybe Birdy holding her baby once her baby is born, and the same with Dredge, and you haven't ever seen the way Burn and Runner and Drummer all sleep on top of each other but it is so _cute_.” Photo holds the camera up over her mouth, presses the bottom of her nose against the top of the case. Lucinda laughs, looks over to where Runner is sitting up on her elbows, eyes narrowed at Photo.

“You’ll have to take up how cute they are with them, and ask _them_ if you can take their pictures.”

“Oh, yeah, of course. I know there’s a lot of--” and Photo drops her voice. “ _tribal superstition_ ,” and she raises her voice again, “about photographs.”

Lucinda makes a noncommittal noise. Her bird does a hop and a flap, up onto her knee. Goes for her interior pocket, pulls out a jangly string of paperclips and safety pins.

“Like--” Photo scoots closer, leans in, and Lucinda leans in too. “They believe you can trap a person’s soul in a photograph. It’s just a picture, like painting or drawing in the sand. You can’t trap someone in a photo.”

Lucinda feels the twinge in her belly, the vague sense of unease crawling up the back of her neck. You _can_ trap someone in a photograph. She forgot about the photographs. Forgot about the pictures the Legion would have burned with everything else they took from the tribe. Forgot about the tiny moments that went up in flames. Worries about the people whose birds died before the photos did.

“Mmm,” she finally says, sits back. Her raven is strutting in front of her now, jingling the loop of string. She rolls onto her back, picks it up in her feet, and keeps rolling. Photo can’t take pictures of her bird, that’s not alright. Maybe in the background, incidentally, but not deliberately.

“Actually, can I-- can I take a picture of you, ma’am?”

Lucinda looks back over at her, squints at the camera.

“I suppose you can, yeah,” Lucinda agrees.

“Okay. So, you’re backlit right here, so I need to move--” Photo is on her feet in a moment, steps over Lucinda’s bird--who squawks indignantly, and rolls back onto her feet before fluffing up and making angry noises-- “right over here,” and she settles onto her knees to Lucinda’s right. “Turn your shoulders back forward, look over at me.”

“I didn’t think you meant right now,” Lucinda snorts. Her bird hops into her lap, and she tugs her coat forward so she’ll be shielded from the camera. “I’m sweaty and dusty from walking all day.”

“It’s a candid shot!” Photo chirps. “You’ll look the way you really do, instead of the pretty and fake way you look on the new coins.”

Lucinda wrinkles her nose, opens her mouth to protest, when she hears a click.

Photo giggles again, and Lucinda lowers her eyebrows.

“You keep that one to yourself, kid,” Lucinda tells her. “No one sees that one.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Photo giggles. 

“Now go tell everyone we’re going to eat soon.”

“Ooh, what are we eating?”

“Whatever cut of dried brahmin I got at the requisitions counter. Tomorrow will probably be whatever Runner and Tooth can hunt up on our walk.”

Photo’s face falls.

“Oh.”

“Kid, it’s food. Just go tell everyone to circle up for dinner.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Lucinda watches her trot off back to Siri, pause just long enough to tell her dinner is coming, before trotting on to the others.

***

They stop at mid-afternoon the next day, because Birdy is crying. Her feet hurt, she’s hungry, she’s overwhelmed. Things are _bad_ she sobs, and the women alternately draw closer or settle in a loose circle close by.

Runner and Siri and Lucinda circle up next to Birdy, who sits on the ground, legs splayed, hands on her belly.

Lucinda passes over her hat, settles it on Birdy’s head. Hands over her canteen, too. Offers a plastic baggie of pinyon nuts and fruit chunks and Sugar Bombs.

“Eat this,” she murmurs, stays squatted next to Birdy’s knee.

“I’m sorry,” she chokes out through a handful of trail mix.

“It happens,” Lucinda replies. 

“Yeah, but I’m slowing everyone down,” Birdy whispers.

“You’re pregnant. It happens.”

“Dredge doesn’t have to stop.” There are tears running down her cheeks, still. Jesus.

“Dredge is thirty years old, tribal, and in better shape than you are.”

“I ain’t thirty,” Dredge yells from her spot next to Twist. “I’m twenty-eight, thank you very much.”

Lucinda rolls her eyes.

“Dredge is more than a decade older than you, and in better shape. You’ll catch up soon enough, but for now you can take it easy.”

“I don’t want to be the weak link,” Birdy replies, schools her face into a scowl. She means it, at least, even as she’s hiccuping and still clearly overwhelmed. She’ll get herself sorted soon.

“Ma’am, if you don’t mind, can I talk to Birdy alone?” Lucinda turns to look up at Runner, who shifts from foot to foot, her hands behind her back. “Just--without you, ma’am, the Doc can stay since she’s a doctor. Just wanna talk about babies for a second here, ma’am.”

“Would you like Runner to sit here with you for a bit?” Lucinda asks Birdy, pats Birdy’s knee.

“Yes, please,” Birdy agrees, nods carefully. Takes a sip from Lucinda’s canteen.

“Alright. I’ll be over with the others, if you need me.”

“Okay, thank you.”

Lucinda stands, turns to go join the other circle, where Dredge and Twist are watching Birdy in concern, and Photo is watching with wide eyes, her camera at the ready. Runner sits down next to Birdy, close enough their shoulders bump if they both breathe deeply. Siri squats on Birdy’s other side, next to her knee, holds her hand out so Birdy takes it.

“When I had mine,” Runner starts, and her voice fades as Lucinda steps further away. “I had a lot of trouble when I had to…”

“Photo, put away the camera. Give her some privacy.” Lucinda points at the camera, flicks her wrist, mimes throwing it away.

“Yes, ma’am.” Photo puts away her camera, fiddles with the hem of her dress, casts nervous glances up at Lucinda every few seconds.

“Good look, without the hat, Boss,” Drummer drawls, takes a drink out of her canteen. “You need to clean up the sides of your head.”

Lucinda reaches up to scuff her hand over the badly-shaved sides of her head.

“I didn’t have a mirror, so unless you’re offering, keep your mouth shut about it.”

“Shit, pass me a razor, I’ll trim it back down for you.”

Lucinda narrows her eyes, watches Drummer for a moment. Loose, open posture, legs at right angles and her pack used as a backrest. Comfortable, stretched out on the desert floor, her straw hat peeling and her jeans frayed through the knees and hems.

She digs her straight razor out of her pocket. Tosses it over to Drummer.

“Hinge is sticky, but it’s sharp enough to work.”

“You comin’ over here, or am I goin’ over there?” Drummer sits up, creaks the straight razor open. She studies the blade and the handle, grunts her approval.

Lucinda considers for a moment before she stands again, steps across the middle of the circle to sit in front of Drummer.

“A’ight, don’t fidget, don’t wanna scrape up your head, Boss.”

Lucinda nods once before Drummer’s hand presses against her scalp, followed by the cold presence of the straight razor.

She watches Runner and Siri and Birdy while Drummer works, watches Runner sling her arm over Birdy’s shoulder, tip the hat back and laugh, watches Siri take Birdy’s pulse and listen to her chest and belly both with the one-eared stethoscope she has in her doctor’s bag. Watches as Birdy watches Siri, watches as they all smile at each other, and Runner helps Birdy back to her feet.

***

The fire is burning low, and Watch is always pacing the camp perimeter, bare feet barely audible on the hard dirt. Everyone else is settled in close to the fire, some more settled than others--Burn and Runner and Drummer are curled together, arms across chests or wedged under shoulders, legs thrown across hips and thighs; Siri folded up to their left, with her book on her legs, reading down at a sharp angle; Tooth sprawled on the edge of the firelight, legs splayed, one hand palm-down on the cracked dirt, the other palm-up, knuckles tapping in time with Watch’s footsteps; Birdy straight across the fire from Lucinda, between Twist and Tooth, watching the fire crackle lower and lower, with her fingers curled under her belly like she can lift the weight and make it lighter; Twist turning her switchblade so each edge and plane catches the firelight in turn, brushing at dust and picking at rust; Dredge with her head pillowed on Twist’s thigh and her heels tapping close to Photo, humming to herself with her hands folded over her stomach; Photo with her camera in hand, checking the fire through the eyepiece, trying to look at the others and compose a shot, fighting with the flickering, dimming light.

It’s Lucinda who breaks the silence, raises her head, shakes the hair escaping her braid back off her face.

“Your women let you down, Birdy.”

The _snik_ of Twist’s switchblade stops, as do Dredge’s humming and the _tmp_ of her feet. Watch’s footsteps stop, somewhere behind Siri. Tooth stops tapping. Runner sits up, to Burn and Drummer’s murmured and indistinct protests. Photo drops her camera into her lap, wriggles back away from the firelight; can't fade the way Watch or Tooth can, but close enough. Siri goes to turn the page of her textbook, pauses.

Everything is silent a long moment, even the wood failing to _pop_ to break the tension.

“No they didn’t,” Birdy says, soft.

“Well they sure didn’t help.” Dredge snorts, throws one arm up at the sky before dropping it above her head to point at Birdy. “If they’d helped, you wouldn’t have the kid.”

“They helped,” Birdy replies. Sets her jaw, sticks her chin out. Tips her nose up as she draws her eyebrows down.

“But did they help the way you needed help?” Lucinda asks, just loud enough to be heard. Runner lays back down, rolls over, and Drummer and Burn go with her, turn their backs on the conversation. Watch starts her circuit again, starts humming, and Tooth keeps time. Photo picks at something hard and plastic.

Twist is silent. Siri is silent. Lucinda is silent. Dredge is silent.

Birdy is silent.

Lucinda digs out a plastic bottle--pre-war, duct taped together so many times it’s barely its shape anymore. She gestures to toss it to Birdy, then tosses it when Birdy raises her hands.

“Nan’s Lace. Grows wild in the southeast. Need to cultivate it, this far west. You take two thumbtips a day, in the middle days between bleeds. Makes sure it doesn’t take.” She holds her hand up, and Birdy tosses the bottle back.

“Other ways,” Twist offers. “Knew girls who put things inside.”

“Whole lotta ways,” Dredge agrees. “You can carry heavy shit, trip and fall, get in a fight, whole lotta shit you can do. Heard if you eat enough of a couple different plants you can fuck it up real bad, though whether that's real or just people talkin’ or maybe just coincidence I don’t know.”

“If it goes too long,” Lucinda murmurs, tucks the bottle away. “You get a coat hanger and you boil it, clean the grime off.”

Siri finally turns the page of her book.

“I don't recommend coat-hanger abortions,” she says. “The potential for harm to you is astronomically high.” She stretches her legs out, presses her thumb into the top corner of the next page in her textbook, right over the worst of a water stain.

“Well, shit, Doc,” Dredge laughs, loud and big. “If I’m willing to stab something inside me to death with a fuckin’ coat hanger, you think I care about what it _might_ do to me?” She laughs again, pats her hands on the top of her head as she stretches, pops her spine. “Last option for a dead woman. Better to do like the Boss says and never have the problem in the first place.”

“But you need your women to care for you first, for that to happen,” Lucinda agrees. She rests her hands on her crossed shins.

“They cared,” Birdy repeats.

“But they didn’t care the way you needed them too, which is worse than not caring at all,” Lucinda replies. “Because that just gets you deeper, somewhere you don’t want to be.”

Twist goes back to flicking her switchblade, and Dredge reaches up to pat at her wrists until she runs one hand through Dredge’s hair.

“What was I supposed to do?” Birdy asks. Tips her chin down, looks at Lucinda from under her eyebrows. Sharp look, meaningful look, challenging look. Smarter than she let on at first, with the sobbing and the bashfulness and the giggling. Smart girl. Raven girl. She’ll learn.

“I don’t know,” Lucinda replies, tips her chin up. “But your women didn’t do right by you.” She narrows her eyes, considers for a moment. Little Raven looking at her, eyes narrowed, challenging everything. Was she this much of a shit to Old Raven when she was thirteen? She must have been. Would she have been at seventeen too? Probably. “It won’t happen here. You need something, you ask, you get it.”

“That go for everyone?” Dredge asks, perks up. “‘Cause I could really use a foot--”

“No,” Lucinda replies, cuts her off. She breaks into a grin, though, wide and honest, and Dredge laughs again.

***

Birdy is falling behind. It’s been a week since they left the Fort--a week where they’ve had to stop every few hours for Birdy; a week where Dredge ended up having to abandon her shoes to her backpack because of her feet swelling and blistering; a week where Runner and Tooth came back with the single biggest fire gecko Lucinda had ever seen, had butchered it and portioned it out three nights running with brutal efficiency; a week where Photo had snapped shot after shot of all of them, making faces, mid-chew, sprawled on the ground before dawn, at least half a dozen shots of the night they found the creek and spent three hours in the water as the sun sank and the air cooled and they all started to freeze--and it’s been a week where Birdy keeps going slower and slower. It’s fine, she’s pregnant, she can’t be feeling well. Today, though, she’s dragged Runner back with her, and they’re leaning together, talking in hushed voices.

Tooth and Watch are both leading today, bumping elbows as they walk. Photo has attached herself to Drummer and Burn, instead of Siri, and Drummer regularly picks her elbow up to use the top of Photo’s head as an armrest. Photo giggles and shakes her off every time, shoves her side. Dredge meanders back and forth, from Birdy and Runner bringing up the rear, ahead in front of Lucinda to where Twist is walking. Siri walks an easy arm’s stretch behind and to Lucinda’s right.

Vegas is long behind them, her halo so faint, if it’s visible at all, that she could just not exist. The desert spreads in front of them, wide and flat and empty.

The sun is starting to sink down, finally in the west after what feels like hours of being straight overhead. Sinking fast, too. Always seems to sink fast, once you have your walking pace. Sinks fast, when you spend your time watching ten other people and a fledgling bird who’s realizing she can pester more than just you.

The sun is an hour or so from touching the horizon when Runner finally trots up to Lucinda’s side.

“Hey, uh, ma’am, Birdy’s having some trouble. We gotta stop for her, I think.”

“What sort of trouble?” Slows her pace, and Siri draws even, then drops back with them. Birdy gains on them, and Runner steps aside to let Birdy--who spend up her steps--between her and Lucinda.

“Hurts every so often. About the same amount of time each time, and I’ve been counting seconds between and they’re really regular.” Birdy looks between Lucinda, Siri, and Runner, eyes darting. “Am I going into labor?”

“Could be,” Lucinda agrees, glances over to Runner, then to Siri. Runner raises her eyebrows, grimaces, Siri gives the faintest shrug. “We should stop soon, anyway. It’s about time to set up for the night.”

“What do I do if I’m going into labor?” Birdy asks, desperate edge in her voice. “I don’t--it’s not clean out here, what if I get an infection? What if I get sick? What if I bleed out? I’ve heard that happens to some women, you know, and I don’t wanna--” she sucks a deep breath, breathes in and out three times until her voice is level again. “I don’t want to bleed out on the desert floor because I’m giving birth.”

“We’ll make sure you don't,” Lucinda agrees. “It’ll be alright, Birdy. We’ll make sure it is.”

“Can you really?” Birdy asks, her voice low. It’s a question, maybe. “Because I’ve heard of a lot of people bleeding out no matter how hard the midwife tried.”

“You’re a strong girl,” Lucinda replies. “It might not be easy, but you’ll do alright.”

“I don't know,” Birdy replies, voice still low. “There’s only so much I can control.”

“You’ll do alright,” Lucinda repeats. Says it as an _order_ , like she can make the world bend to her will if she says it with enough certainty, like she can make death itself step aside if she speaks with enough intent. “I’m going to call camp.” 

She speeds up, goes to inform the others. Birdy leans into Runner’s side, and Siri joins the huddle, wraps her am across Birdy’s shoulders and the middle of Runner's back, bumps Birdy between them as Lucinda calls everyone in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you are in need of an abortion, please don't do anything discussed in this chapter, for your own safety. if you can, try to get to a healthcare center, like [planned parenthood](https://www.plannedparenthood.org/get-care) or a local clinic


	4. Chapter 4

**CONTENT WARNING: Discussion of infanticide**

 

“With what you’re describing, you’re likely going into labor.” Siri has her stethoscope out again, squats next to Birdy in the lean-to tent they set up apart from the others. Runner and Dredge pace back and forth to one side, one stopping and the other starting, walking tight circles and lines, checking the rocks weighing down the blanket, the rope holding up the blanket.

“Okay.” Birdy nods, swallows hard.

Lucinda squats outside the tent, away from Runner and Dredge, watching Birdy and Siri. The sun is to her left, approaching the horizon, and Twist is trying to light the fire. Everyone else has dug little depressions into the dirt, set up their blankets and their sleeping arrangements, huddled against the bases of rocks and shielded from the wind.

“You’re not having your baby _yet_ ,” Siri murmurs, puts her stethoscope away. “You’ll have another hour or two of this, at least, maybe more.”

Birdy flops backward, groans. Runner laughs--she’s the one standing, now, as Dredge paces and hums--and squats.

“The first one’s the longest, is what I’ve heard.” She slides into the tent, bumps her shoulder into Birdy’s. “If you do it again, it’ll take less time.”

“I’m not planning on doing it again,” Birdy snaps.

“Then you’ve got a one time deal!” Runner points out, smiles wide. SHe pats Birdy’s knee. “Me and Dredge and the Doc will stick with you for it, alright? It’ll go faster if you have Dredge here to tell you dumb stories.”

“They’re not dumb!” Dredge complains. Runner laughs and ducks her head, and Birdy smiles, though it’s tight and barely-there.

“Lucy, if you wouldn’t mind boiling some water?” Siri turns around, stands up as she steps out from under the lean-to. 

“Of course. Someone might have soap, too.”

“Twist does,” Dredge offers. “She’d probably share for Birdy, since the kid’s tryna push out a baby, y’know? And Twist is good people.”

“I can hear you,” Twist says from her place next to the fire. She doesn't look up, stays huddles in front of the fire so the breeze won’t blow out the kindling. “It’s in my bag. Let me get it.”

Lucinda nods, goes to her own pack to dig out the cooking pot and a gallon jug of water she filled at the creek two days ago.

Twist moves aside as Lucinda dumps the gallon into the pot, covers it, goes to scrounge up more fuel.

“Watch, Tooth, come with me.” She points at each in turn gestures at a spot in front of her feet. Both nod, and Tooth hauls herself to her feet and Watch trots over from where she was perched atop a rock. “Drummer, you get the water on as soon as there's enough of a fire for it to boil.”

“Yes ma’am,” Drummer agrees.

“Burn, you keep watch,” she points to where Watch was just sitting, “Photo, you help out Twist or Siri or Drummer, whoever needs you. Do whatever they need you to do.”

“Yes ma’am!” Photo agrees, grinning wide. Behind her, Drummer rolls her eyes and grimaces, shrugs and goes to watch the fire next to Twist. Burn scrambles up the rock, settles down, rattles her dice together. “Siri, we’ll be back as soon as we can, if something happens and you need any of the three of us, send someone out to find us. We’re going north, but not far.”

“Got it,” Siri calls back, disappears back under the lean-to.

Lucinda glances over everyone still in camp-- all at whatever work they settled on or were assigned to, even Photo scooting around the fire to sit at Twist’s side, craning her neck to watch as the flames catch the yucca stalks. Dredge squatted next to the lean-to, Runner and Siri and Birdy talking inside, Burn perched atop Watch’s rock with her dice out, Drummer shifting the pot back and forth inch by inch as she watches the fire start to grow.

Lucinda turns, waves Tooth and Watch along, and walks away from camp.

***

“WHy us?” Watch asks, squints. She pulled a pair of sunglasses from a backpack pocket, yesterday, has refused to take them off since, even as evening falls. “Why not any of the others?”

“You’ve got a good eye, and Tooth is tribal. Dredge and Runner are both busy with Birdy, Twist is busy with the fire, Drummer is needed to watch the water, Burn is better served back in camp.” She yanks at the yucca leaves, bundles them together and ties them with another leaf. Tooth thunks her foot into a joshua tree trunk, leans her weight onto it to see if the tree will snap, or just bend. It doesn’t do either.

“Good eye for what?” Watch asks.

“Anything, from what I’ve seen so far. You keep watch every night, I figure you can spot a dead tree.”

“There aren’t _any_ trees out here, even dead ones,” Watch points out, bundles the creosote bush she uprooted into her jacket. “And unfortunately, coyote hide doesn’t burn very well and stinks like hair and burning flesh.”

“Well, I’m glad to have confirmation there’s nothing out here.” Lucinda ties a few yucca leaves together, bundles a few other smaller bundles together. “We should head back. This should hopefully keep us going for as long as Birdy needs to be up.”

“Why are you so nice to her?” Tooth asks, steps away from her joshua tree. “Not like you ain’t nice to the rest of us, and ain’t like she don’t deserve a little niceness, but.” She narrows her eyes, tips her ragged straw hat back. “But I heard about the Mojave, same as Photo did,” she continues after an evaluatory pause. “Heard a lot of stories about you, don’t know how many are true, but ain’t any of them make you sound _nice_.”

“I’m a woman of many facets,” Lucinda replies, grunts as she swings the yuccas over her shoulders.

“Nah, nah, you’re running a con, or something like a con.” Tooth digs her hands into her pockets, falls in just behind Lucinda, off to her right. Watch falls in the same, but to her left. “Guess it ain’t a con if the frumentarii are running it for you, but what’s your skin in this game? You ain't gotta be nice to her, but you are.”

“If I’m an asshole to all of you--” she grunts, huffs, hikes the yuccas higher, her bird flops her way out of the nest in her hood and to the ground, and then hops back into the air, floats around above Lucinda’s head, “--then all I get is nine people who hate me. Nine people who hate me, who are bleeding out because they didn’t get the medical care they needed, or who are starving because they don’t trust food I make even if they watched me make it, or who fuck up and get us all canned and sent back to husbands and owners and tiny towns along the trade routes.” Her bird squawks, swoops past her head, and she makes a noise back. “I don’t know about you, but I’d rather leave Dog Town behind.”

Tooth grunts, nods, studies the horizon intently. The sun hasn’t sunk all the way yet, but it’ll be gone by the time they make it back to the camp.

“Not sure I trust that,” Watch murmurs. “But I’ll let it stand.”

Lucinda laughs.

“I don’t lie unless it gets me somewhere, Watch. What does lying about this get me?”

“Our trust,” Watch replies, doesn’t miss a beat. “NCR trusted you too, for five, six years. You’re not playing that long of a game now.”

“And who am I going to betray your trust to? The NCR, so they can lock me and most of you up for the rest of our lives? The Legion? What do I get by doing that? Who am I going to sell you out to?” Lucinda snorts, and her bird lands on her pauldron with a clatter of wings.

“I don’t know yet,” Watch replies. “But I’m keeping my eye on you.”

Lucinda snorts again, and then they all three go silent.

***

The hot water has been taken to Siri already, and Runner and Dredge are both under the lean-to now, along with Siri and Birdy.

Lucinda goes to join them, leaves Watch and Tooth to tend the fire with the others. Watch scrambles up the rock to replace Burn at her post, and Burn slides down to join the others. Tooth draws out a betting board in the dirt with a stick.

“Lucy, would you come here,” Siri murmurs, points Lucinda to Birdy’s side.

“You need a hand to hold?” Lucinda asks, settles on her knees next to Birdy. Birdy nods and slings her arm over Lucinda’s shoulder. Lucinda reaches up to squeeze her hand.

***

“It’s a girl,” Siri murmurs, smiles big and genuine. “Ten fingers, ten toes, she feels like she’s a healthy weight.”

The infant takes one deep gasp before she starts to scream, and Dredge throws her head back and laughs.

“Good set of lungs on that one.” She leans into Birdy’s shoulder, eases her down from her crouched position, onto the folded blanket. “Hope she doesn’t give us away to the deathclaws.”

Siri wraps the baby in a towel, passes her to Birdy, who takes her in her arms. Sir gathers the stained blankets she can, bundles them together and hefts them out of the lean-to. Dredge pats the side of Birdy’s head, tugs her in. Kisses her hairline just above her ear. Birdy slumps into her, lets Dredge take her weight.

Birdy stares down at the still-screaming newborn for a long minute, eyes wide, tears intermittently trickling down her cheeks and then turns to Lucinda, holds the baby out without a word. Lucinda takes her, doesn’t speak for a long moment as she arranges the towel, settles her in her arms.

“Do you want it?” Lucinda asks, voice low. “If you don’t, I can deal with it.”

The baby fusses, and Lucinda passes her back over. Birdy tugs open her shirt.

“I don’t know,” Birdy replies, voice small. “I don’t know.”

“That’s alright,” Lucinda replies, rests her hand on Birdy’s knee. “That’s alright. You don’t have to decide right now.”

“What would you do?” Birdy asks. “What would you do with her?”

“Don’t ask,” Dredge says, barks out a laugh, holds Birdy tighter. “You don’t wanna know. You just wanna know how permanent it is.”

Birdy nods, holds in a sob.

“How--how perm--” she starts, cuts herself off.

“Really permanent,” Lucinda replies. “If you say yes, you can't change your mind. If you don’t decide, or if you say no, you can always choose later.” She wraps her arm around Birdy’s lower back, leans into her shoulder. “You can always make up your mind later. For now, you nurse and you take it easy. I’ll have Siri back over here in a minute, alright?” 

“Okay,” Birdy squeaks.

“Dredge, take care of her.”

“Sure thing, Boss,” Dredge agrees, reaches up to run her hand through Birdy's hair. “Sure thing.”

Lucinda stands, leaves Birdy and Dredge and the baby.

Siri's squatting next to the pile of blankets, pot of water next to her, soap in hand.

“The baby is healthy?” Lucinda asks.

“She’s robust, even,” Siri agrees, doesn’t look up from her scrubbing, just scowls at the stain.

“And Birdy will be alright?”

“As things look right now, yes. She'll bleed for a while, but she should be fine.” Her scrubbing stills, but she doesn’t look up.

“Everyone bleeds after giving birth,” Lucinda agrees. She squats next to Siri. “But it’s not out of the ordinary? She’ll be alright?”

“As long as she’s taken care of, yes. I wouldn’t suggest making her walk for another month, ideally, but I know how these things go.” Siri sighs, lets the sheets flop back onto the ground. Digs her hands into them, wraps her knuckles in threadbare flannel, hunches her shoulders up. “So at least not another few days. Give her time.”

“I can work with that,” Lucinda agrees. “I told her I would send you over. I'll take over on the washing.”

Siri sits back, shakes her hands off.

“Dredge and Runner are already sitting with her. Dredge doing a good job of comforting her.” Lucinda sheds her coat. “Think it means more, since Dredge is-” she sticks her elbow out, makes something like a gesture for a stomach. “And Runner had a kid. And I’m not, and I haven't.” She pulls her armor off over her head, drops it on top of her coat, shakes her shirt out.

Siri dries her arms off on her towel, stands.

“Did you offer to get rid of the baby?” she asks, voice low.

“I did,” Lucinda agrees. “She hasn’t made a decision, and she was crying when I left. Not because of me, though,” she adds. “The tears were not my fault.”

“I know,” Siri says. “What will you do, if she takes you up on the offer?”

“Take it out and break its head,” Lucinda replies, lets it thrum up through her chest. “It’s quick and it’s quiet.”

“I have other questions for you, later.”

“I figured,” Lucinda snorts, but she’s smiling.

“I want those blankets clean when I get back.” Siri points at the pile of blankets.

“Sure thing, boss,” Lucinda replies, rolls her eyes.

“Don’t give me any of that lip,” Siri replies, sets her hands on her hips, gives Lucinda a single raised eyebrow.

“Yes ma’am,” Lucinda replies, laughs.

Siri turns and walk toward the other firepit; Lucinda scrubs at the stains with the bar of soap, squints in the flickering light of the campfire.

***

“Birdy.” Lucinda sits next to Birdy, who keeps staring down at her baby. “I have a request.”

“”What is it?” She asks. Pauses a moment, adds, “ma’am.”

“We're coming up on the first town I’ve been ordered to hold for the Legion. I need someone to infiltrate and pass me information about its defenses, it’s guard schedule, any resources it has.”

“And you want me to do it.”

Lucinda nods.

“And I want you to do it.” She reaches her hand up and out, stretches her fingers toward Birdy’s baby, pulls away. Birdy passes the baby over, wordless, and the baby starts to fuss. Lucinda taps her chin, hums. “It’s a request, not an order, so if you would rather not play honeypot, you don’t have to.” Lucinda crushes out her cigarette in the dirt, bounces the baby on her arm and mutters soft noises to try to quiet her down. 

“Why me?” Birdy asks. “Why not Twist? Twist is actually NCR, wouldn’t she be better?”

Lucinda snorts.

“Do you think I could get Twist to turn over an NCR border town if I wasn’t there to force her to do it?” Her mouth quirks up and she snorts again. Around the fire, Dredge laughs, and Siri sighs, and Runner launches into the next half of her story.

“But why me? Why not one of the others?”

“Look at yourself, Birdy,” Lucinda replies, grunts as she shifts the baby to her other arm. “Big eyes, pretty face, you're still young. Sort of girl who inspires sympathy. Tell the truth about the baby, lie about where you’re from, try to make yourself a _new life_ in the town, give them three nights and then deliver whatever information you have to Watch.” The baby stops fussing, waves her arms around before hooting and going quiet. “It’s your choice, but know that this isn’t a chance to leave the Legion. I have my orders, but I won’t chase you down either. You go, you go, but I’m not going to let wherever you end up go just because I know _you_.”

“Photo is cute too,” Birdy replies, tucks her knees up and wraps her arms around her shins. “Why not her?”

“Photo is barely more than a kid, she’s barely even Legion, and she’s not smart the way you are.”

Birdy snorts and shakes her head.

“Flattery.”

“Huh-uh,” Lucinda replies. “Truth. You get people, know how to push, how to act. Don’t think I didn’t notice, because you’re like me. Have a sense for people, know how to act, how how to lead, know exactly which questions to ask, whether you ask them or not.” Lucinda narrows her eyes, leans forward. “And that’s why I’m asking you if you’ll do the job.” Sits back again, adjusts her hold on the baby so she can dig out her pack of cigarettes and matchbox.

They’re both quiet for a long minute, and Birdy watches Lucinda work one cigarette free from the pack, pick a match out, pinch them together between her fingers.

“Pass me the baby,” Birdy says, finally, voice low. “I’ll do the job.”

Lucinda passes the baby over, stays sitting and silent as Birdy stands.

“I should go eat,” Birdy continues, turns her back to Lucinda.

Lucinda watches her go.


	5. Chapter 5

**CONTENT WARNING: References to rape, mild violence**

 

“What’s your name?” the woman asks, rubs dirt off Birdy’s cheek. Birdy leans into the touch, whimpers. Holds her baby closer. The baby whimpers too, and she bounces her.

She opens her mouth, but her name catches in her throat.

“I’m escaping,” she says, instead. Give herself time to think of a name. Think of which name to call herself, whether to use the one the Boss gave her, or a new name entirely. “They hurt me, and they-” She lifts her baby, indicates her existence.

“You poor dear,” the woman says, but doesn’t move aside. “I’ll go get the doctor. You sit right here. What’s your name?” She leans in, nods her head the tiniest bit, makes it clear she didn’t miss Birdy’s deflection.

“Birdy,” she finally manages, sees the Boss’s grin, the way she ducked her head and laughed and looked at Siri like she meant what she said in an entirely different way than she explained it.

“Birdy,” the woman nods, smiles. “Well, you stay right here, Birdy, and I’ll bring the doctor to you.”

So she sits on the woman’s chair while the woman disappears down main street, to a scummy wooden shack on the other end of town. She comes back with a squat old lady, her hair tied back in a bun, more wrinkles on her face than on a molerat’s backside.

“Where are you from, dear?” the doctor asks Birdy, gently takes her baby from her arms. Unwraps the baby, looks her over, swaddles her and hands her back.

“Town east,” Birdy mush-mouths. “They-” and she hefts her baby again, lets the words choke in her throat.

“Oh, oh, dear.” The doctor pats her face, her shoulders, wipes away the tears she’s conjured up. “Come back to me clinic, and I’ll help you, alright?”

***

The doctor sits her on a gurney, offers soft smiles and half-assed jokes as she checks her over--presses a stethoscope to her chest, has her breathe; taps her knees with a small hammer, has her open her mouth; looks at her eyes and her ears.

“You’re in very good health, Birdy,” the doctors tells her. “And so is your baby.” She sets down her tools and pulls over the rolly chair at the desk. “Now, why don’t you tell me what happened?”

“They, they forced me, and I--” she tears up again, curls her arms around herself and away from her baby.

“Oh, dear.” The doctor stands again, pats Birdy’s cheek. “We have a place for you here. Here you’ll be safe.”

“Thank you,” Birdy squeaks. “Thank you so much.” Tries not to think about Lucinda and Runner and Siri back in camp, Lucinda sharpening her machete, Runner cooing to the baby, Siri sorting through her bag to see if there's anything she can reasonably send along to help.

“Here, why don't we go get you some food. I’ll tell Jess out on the road you’re good here, once we get you fed.”

***

The saloon has a single ceiling fan, spinning slow and loud. There’s a counter, and a back room, and a half-dozen rickety tables set up.

“Lara, this girl's just got in from the east. Why don’t you feed her. On my tab.” The doctor pushes Birdy forward a little.

“Sure thing, ma’am,” the woman behind the counter agrees. “What’ll you have, girl? We got omelettes if you don't mind gecko eggs, and brahmin burgers if you do.”

“A--brahmin burger, please.”

“You got it, girl. Why don’t you come sit up here at the counter.” Lara pats the countertop, slides out a glass of clean water. Birdy complies, carefully seats herself on the stool.

“Cute baby,” Lara offers.

“She--” and she looks away.

“Your reason, then.” Lara doesn’t look at her. “Sister ran away from home for the same reasons. Good girl. Wish I knew where she got off to.” She flips the meat patty on the griddle, tosses two halves of a bun on the griddle to toast. “How do you feel about fried potatoes?”

She’s never had fried potatoes, but if she’s from a _town_ east, she would have.

“I like them,” she says.

“Never met someone who didn’t.” Lara sweeps the bun off the griddle and onto a plate, scoops the patty off the griddle next, slides it onto the bun. Uses a tongs to dump some slices of potato into a basket that she sets into a pot of grease. “Have ‘em out for you in just a moment, sweetheart. Sit tight and enjoy your burger.”

They’re both quiet then, while the potatoes fry, silent as they marinate in the heavy, sticky stench of hot oil . Lara eventually tongs the fries onto Birdy’s plate with a question.

“Your girl got a name?”

“Not yet,” Birdy murmurs. Doesn’t look at the baby, who waves her arms and gurgles. Lara leans on the counter, looks down at the baby, eyes soft.

“Not keeping her? Or you waiting for her to get sick?”

“Waiting for her to get sick,” Birdy agrees. That’s reasonable--hold off naming until you know your child will live.

“Mmm,” Lara hums.

***

She ends up bedded down in the woman on the road’s house. She has a sofa in her main room, an extra blanket she offers without a question. The baby lays on what looks like an old dog bed, next to the sofa. The baby doesn’t seem to mind. She’s stayed sleeping for most of this, for most everything, except to poop and nurse. The one time she woke up, Jess joked with her about her baby drawing in deathclaws from the nest ten miles to the northwest.

Jess doesn’t say much, aside from the offer of a place to sleep and the joke about deathclaws. Sleeps with her gun close at hand--same as the Boss, same as Dredge, same as Twist and Runner and Burn, makes her a strange sort of familiar.

 

Jess snores.

***

Birdy spends three days puttering around town. She attaches herself to Lara, who takes her in as a sort-of apprentice. Shows her how to run the griddle, where to find the alcohol, teaches her how many caps things are worth. Lets her carry her baby around while she wipes tables and rearranges chairs and dusts the sad neon signs.

On the third night, she knows the patrols. Wrote them down, even, so she wouldn’t forget. Knows where the camp is. Knows her baby will be quiet, as she slips out of town through a crack in the defenses, runs toward the camp, just a little ways over the hills. Not far. Farther than the town would look, though. Two hours out, to where she can see Watch up on the hill, just a bump where she squats in the tall grass, blending easy with the rocks.

“I brought the patrol list. You should be able to take the town without much trouble. There are only four guns in the whole settlement.”

“How many people?” Watch asks.

“Two dozen. Eight women, eleven men, and five children.”

“An even two dozen,” and Watch snorts. “Unexpected.” She takes the paper from Birdy, tucks it into her pocket. “I’ll report back to the boss. You best get back before they miss you.”

“Ave,” Birdy murmurs.

“Salve,” Watch replies. She snorts, taps her fingers against her knee. “Is that the only language we have in common?”

“Well, we both speak English too.” Birdy shrugs, adjusts her baby sling.

“English doesn’t have any good sending-off words.” Watch shakes her head. “Watch yourself out there, Birdy.”

“You too, Watch,” and they both grin at each other, just barely visible in the blue light of the moon.

***

She spends day four in the doctor’s office, trying to look like she wants to learn. She’s as much helping as looking for books or tools for Siri. The Doc already likes her, sure, the Doc likes most everyone except Dredge, who she also likes, probably, even though she complains about her every time they’re out of earshot of both Dredge and the Boss, but that doesn’t mean she can’t curry favor.

The doctor here shows her how injections work, offers to share a few recipes for remedies she’s picked up in her time. She offers the recipe for Bitter Drink like it’s some well-kept secret, and not something everyone in the Legion knows by heart. Birdy pretends she doesn’t know it, asks questions about how much of this and how much of that is needed.

Follows the doctor over to the saloon for supper, join the rest of the town in laughing at jokes.

Sleeps on Jess’s sofa, again, though tonight she doesn’t sleep. Jess is out on the road tonight, the way she is every second night. Tonight, Birdy stays up. Rocks her baby. Waits for the gunshots, the yells, the sound of fighting.

Waits for the boss to step through Jess’s door and tell her “Well done.”

***

The town has a shitty wall made of corrugated steel to protect them, propped up with rotting two-by-fours and cinderblocks and chunks of concrete. Looks like the wasteland puked up the walls after a week-long mezcal bender.

Siri, Dredge, and Watch stay back in camp, Siri fussing over her medical equipment, Dredge complaining about her feet, Watch settling atop the rock just outside camp to play sentry, the way she always does.

Lucinda tries to leave Photo behind.

She really does.

But the kid sticks to her--Cockleburr, she considers, not Photo--and so the kid comes along. The kid will learn. The kid will learn _quickly_.

She gives Photo a Stealth Boy, tells her to keep out of the way. Don’t hit anyone, don’t run toward anyone, keep herself behind something solid and likely to stop a bullet if she can. Photo looks at her with those big brown eyes, looks surprised that there are going to be _bullets_. Vulpes must have sent this one because she’s clueless.

She gives Runner and Burn Stealth Boys too, shows them what buttons to hit, suggests silent weaponry. The two of them nod, flick their Stealth Boys on, and disappear into the night.

“Twist, Drummer, stay with me. Tooth, you hold the saloon. We’ll gather people there. No mercy--someone fights, shoot them or machete them.”

“Sure, Boss,” Drummer agrees, slow and quiet. Looks at the others. Tooth nods, and Twist taps the flat of her machete with her fingernail. Lucinda nods. 

“Helmets down, keep your faces hidden. If they’ll know anyone, it’ll be me.”

Tooth tugs her scarf up over her face, lets Lucinda adjust it until the printing sits right. Drummer tugs her scarf over her face, settles her goggles over her eyes. Twist drops the faceplate of her helmet.

“Let’s go,” Lucinda murmurs, voice low and deep in her chest.

Drummer and Twist split, flank the entrance to the town, keep themselves low and silent. Lucinda flicks on her Stealth Boy before she crests the hill, fades into the night. Tooth loses all of them quickly, ranges ahead and towards the right of the door, keeps herself flat on the ground until Lucinda deals with the guard.

Tooth sees the waver in the air before the guard does, sees Lucinda bring her machete around, wrap her arms over the woman’s chest as she deactivates her Stealth Boy. She can’t hear the words, though; still takes it as her cue, scrambles to her feet and slides down the hill. She catches the tail end of what Lucinda says, as she flicks her Stealth Boy off--

“You yell, I kill you and everyone in this town. Are we clear?” Lucinda’s voice is low, rough, every word clear and full of intent.

“Yes,” the guard spits out.

“Glad to hear it,” Lucinda replies, and her tone makes Tooth’s skin crawl. It’s the same tone some of the men from the tribe used, most of the men from the Legion used. Not one she wanted to hear again. “Tooth, this one’s yours.”

“Yes ma’am,” Tooth agrees, takes the guard’s arm as Lucinda strips her of her gun, takes the knife from her belt and tucks it next to the bowie knife strapped to her own thigh.

“Fuck all of you,” the guard bites out. She spits at Lucinda, lands a gob of spit on her chest. “Fuck the Legion, and fuck you for--”

“I know,” Lucinda replies. Her eyes are blank, empty, all pupil in the low light of the single lamp. “Fuck us and our men and our dogs and our goddamned machetes.” Lucinda inclines her chin, wrinkles her nose. “I’d let you go, if it would get me anything worth the trouble.”

Tooth drags the guard away, then, before she and Lucinda can talk anymore. They’re halfway down the street when the guard yells. Tooth tackles her to the ground, slaps a hand over her mouth, wrestles her down, pins her arms, silences her with an elbow to the kidneys. Somewhere behind her, a boot is slammed into a door, once, twice, three times; the door breaks, and over the noise Lucinda yells, “Welcome to the Legion, ladies and gents! Keep your hands on your head and your mouths shut, and we won’t have any fuckin’ problems!”

Tooth wrestles the guard through the door of the saloon, slams the door shut after her, leans against it to keep her in.

She stays there, as Lucinda repeats herself, marches four people, clutching blankets around themselves, shivering in the night air, over to the saloon, as Drummer and Twist do the same, with less yelling, or more, men and women and children, until the saloon is full up of two dozen people. Lucinda slings a chain through the door handle, padlocks it shut with three separate padlocks, drops the keys into one of her pockets.

“Twist, Drummer, do a last sweep of the town, look for radios or mail while you do. Runner, check what supplies they have. Burn, look for any valuables. Tooth, you stay here.” She cups her hands over her mouth, turns back in the direction of camp. “Photo!” she yells, keeps silent as the others disperse to their jobs, listens for footsteps. Inside the saloon, a half dozen people are crying and the rest are silent.

Photo rounds the corner on soft feet, her eyes big.

“Photo, you stay here with Tooth. You do whatever she tells you to do. Got it?”

“Yes’m,” Photo agrees.

“Good.” Lucinda nods. “I’ll be back in a hour.” She pulls a can of spray paint out of her coat, tosses it to Drummer as she rounds the corner. “Mark the houses without valuables with X’s, with valuables with O’s.”

“Yes ma’am,” Drummer agrees, shakes the spray can as she wanders back toward the cluster of houses.

“I’m going to go set flares, let them know the town is taken, that we can move in.” She digs through her pocket, her eyes on the horizon, until she pulls out her matchbox and pack of cigarettes. She lights one without blinking or turning.

“Boss?” Photo squeaks.

“Yeah?” Lucinda asks, after she takes a first long drag.

“What if they try to escape?” She points at the padlocked door. Knows enough to keep her mouth shut about the padlocks--the idea of what’s holding it shut is just as powerful as what's _actually_ holding it shut.

Lucinda crosses her free arm over her diaphragm, fiddles with her coat as she rests her elbow on her wrist, lets her cigarette smolder between her fingers. She studies Photo, eyes narrowed.  
“Twist?” she yells over her shoulder.

There’s a loud grunt from nearby

“You still have that auto ten-mil on you?”

“Sure do,” Twist agrees.

“Bring it here.”

Twist materializes out of the dark, passes the pistol to Lucinda grip-first. Lucinda takes it, turns it in her hands. Checks the chamber, turns it again to present it to Photo grip first, in turn. 

“They try to run, you point that at them and hold the trigger down.”

“But that will--” Photo starts.

“Yeah,” Lucinda cuts her off. “They run, they earned it.”

“But…” Photo squeaks, soft. The gun look foreign in her hands. She’s too soft for this. Too soft for the Legion, for killing, to be holding a gun. All of it.

“Then you better hope they don’t run,” Lucinda murmurs. 

She turns and walks away, toward the first house by the road.

Birdy is sitting on the couch inside, her baby cradled in her arms. She doesn’t look up as Lucinda swings the door open, leans in the doorway.

“Are you alright?” Lucinda asks.

“It’s--it’s nothing,” Birdy replies.

“You didn’t think it would happen, did you?” Lucinda asks. “You thought maybe this was some great adventure, and maybe we’d walk away from the Legion and be free.” Lucinda steps into the shack for real, settles onto the coffee table in front of Birdy. “May I hold her?” Lucinda asks, nods to the baby. Birdy passes her over, settles back onto the sofa, tucks her legs up underneath herself. “Photo’s having a hard time believing it. You’re both too young to get it, still, I think.”

“I’m not too young,” Birdy replies. “I’m Legion, same as you. There’s no age limit on that.”

“If you were in my place, would you do it?” Lucinda asks.

Birdy stays quiet.

“That’s what I thought. Too young still.” Lucinda nods once, shakes her head once, fiddles with the edge of the baby’s blanket. She studies the baby face, then shakes her head, and passes the baby back to Birdy.

Drummer pops her head in the door, tosses Lucinda the can of paint when she looks up.

“Here’s your paint back, Boss.”

“Thank you. Drummer, I’ve got a question.” She runs her hands down her thighs, pats her knees, presses her palms together as she squares her shoulders.

“Well, shoot.” Drummer straightens up, shoves her hands into her pockets.

“If you were in my place, would you do this? The same things I’m doing?”

“Probably would, yeah,” Drummer agrees. “Maybe not the same way, but I see surviving. Like to keep surviving.”

Lucinda nods.

“That’s all, you’re free to go.”

Drummer nods, ducks out of the doorway. “I’m going to go set up flares on the road, get the following party to move in. You’re welcome to come along.”

“Do any of them know I did it?” Birdy asks. Keeps her head down, her voice low, glances at the screen door just before it bangs shut in the breeze.

“They will soon enough,” Lucinda replies, doesn’t jump or look at the door. She digs out her pack of cigarettes and her matchbox. “You’re going to have to learn to live with it, Birdy. That’s all you can do.”

“If you say so,” Birdy sighs. She rubs her forehead with one hand, balances her baby on her other arm, unfolds her legs to set her feet back on the floor. “Can you smoke outside, I’m getting a headache.”

“Sure.” Lucinda stands. “If you want to set flares with me, I’ll be up on the hill. Twist and Drummer will be around too, if you’d rather not.”

“I think I'll stay here.” Birdy looks down at her baby, studies her face as she nestles into her swaddling a little more.

Lucinda nods, closes the door softly behind herself.

Digs the flares out of the pouch at her hip, as she ascends the hill outside of town. Squats, places them, digs out her matchbox again. Waits a moment, lets the burn creep through her thighs for a moment, lets a little more ash dislodge from her cigarette, lets the crickets rattle away for a little longer.

She lights the first one, watches it fly up, shriek, hang burning in the air. Doesn’t watch the second, or the third. Leaves the shells there, stubs out her cigarette, leaves three discarded matches. 

Takes time on her way back to watch the horizon, tries to capture a snapshot of what the sky looks like here. Tries to place the stars she knows. Takes time to smoke two more cigarettes, one after the other, undisturbed.

The part of the contubernium that came along is gathered on the road, when she returns. Photo clings to Birdy, who sticks close to Twist. Drummer took over Photos position in front of the saloon door, opposite Tooth. She’s holding the pistol too; Photo stands with her hands in front of herself, balling her dress up in front of her. Good thing she’s wearing leggings.

“If you want, you can take some things from the houses. Nothing too big, for your own sakes, because you’re going to have to carry it, but if you want it and you’ll haul it, take it.”

“Boss, that’s--” Photo starts. Birdy punches her in the shoulder, and Photo scowls at her.

***

Lucinda wanders through the houses Drummer and Twist marked, picks up books and flips through them, weighs jewelry in her hands, shakes out packs and cartons of cigarettes from the NCR and some of the more lax border towns, dumps all the matches she can find into her matchbox.

Hears a brahmin behind one house, so she goes out to refill its feed trough and check its water tank.

As dawn breaks, Photo and Birdy head back to camp Twist and Runner escorting them. Drummer, Tooth, and Burn squat in front of the saloon, mouths shut, rolling the ceramic dice and marking their bets on their grid in the dirt. Tooth and Burn both have an ear toward the saloon, and Drummer stands to walk a circuit around the salon again, check the locks.

Lucinda paces the front gate, entertains herself by spitting bits of half-chewed jerky into the air for her bird.

The legionaries top the hill in the late afternoon, and Lucinda hails them. Drummer scuffs out their betting board, Burn tucks the dice away in a pouch around her neck. Tooth settles her back against the door.

Burn and Drummer putter over to Lucy’s place in the gate, watch the men approach. Tuck themselves out of the way as they get closer, settle against the wall to the left. Lucy stands in the gateway, arms crossed on her chest, her bird settled on the back of the sentry chair.

“Ave,” the decanus yells, when he’s close enough.

“Ave,” Lucinda calls back, drops her arms and inclines her chin.

“You had no trouble?” the decanus asks.

“None,” Lucinda agrees. “There’s one, perhaps, you need to watch, but most of them are frightened farmers. There’s a doctor, an old woman. Good knowledge, valuable asset, my scout said.”

One of the legionaries behind the decanus scoffs, a tiny snort, a flick of his eyes like he’s trying not to roll them. A couple of the other legionaries shuffle and glance at each other, try not to grin.

Lucinda doesn’t respond, but behind her Burn and Drummer glance at each other. Burn gestures with one hand, low, off to her side, out of sight of the legionaries. Tooth, on the saloon steps, snorts and rolls her eyes, exaggerates the movement so it can’t be missed.

“Where is your scout?” the decanus asks. “I want hi--her report.” Even the decanus’s face twists as he corrects himself.

“She’s back at our camp, resting. Doctor’s orders.”

“Weak,” the same scout snorts.

Lucinda’s jaw twitches, but she doesn’t say anything to him.

“The tall blonde woman is the one you need to watch for, she’s alone and she’s one of the guards on the road. Most likely to cause you trouble.”

“Thank you, Lucia,” the decanus agrees. “We’ll take it from here.”

Lucinda nods, waves Tooth over. Steps aside so the contubernium can trickle into town, Tooth keeps herself close to the wall as she walks to Lucinda, keeps herself out ofthe way of the men, who jostle and push at each other, bang elbows and shoulders, bounce off each other. Burn and Drummer lean closer together; Drummer digs her fingers into Burn’s jacket pocket.

“Let’s go,” Lucinda says, voice low, waves Tooth and Drummer and Burn ahead of her. “Let them deal with the town now.”

The other women nod, lead the way back toward camp. Drummer and Burn split, a few steps outside the gate, drift to either side until Lucinda leads and Tooth trails behind, 

“Hey, Boss.” It’s Drummer who breaks the silence, voice rough. 

“Yeah?” Lucinda asks. Turns her head just enough to watch Drummer from the corner of her eye.

“How d’you do it?” she asks. “How do you not let the personal things get to you.”

“Don’t let it get personal,” Lucinda replies. “The minute it’s personal, you’re fucked.”

“What if it _is_ personal?” Tooth asks.

“Then stop being that person,” Lucinda replies.

“Can’t stop being me,” Drummer replies.

“Sure you can,” Burn murmurs. “Can always stop being one person so you can be another.”

“You got it,” Lucinda agrees, holds up her arm so her bird can land.

Drummer snorts, but doesn’t argue.

***

A call goes out over the radio, at sundown, requesting backup at the town. Two legionaries down--out of commission by a _woman_ , of all things. Burn and Tooth lay together, giggling, while Birdy rocks her baby under Runner and Dredge’s supervision. Siri reads; Watch walks a circuit around the camp, hops up onto the windbreak rock to study the horizon; Twist sharpens her machete on a whetstone. Photo stays huddled against the base of the rock, arms over her chest and knees tucked up and together, so her calves rub. Drummer sits at the fireside, at a careful 45 degree angle to Lucinda, far enough back that Burn taps her back with her toes. Lucinda presses her hand over her mouth as the call goes out, covers her smile, prods at the coals with the end of her machete while she waits for the corn to finish roasting.

“We did good today,” she says, finally, once the confirmation of more incoming troops comes through and the conversation has dropped off again, into near-silence. Watch is now seated behind Photo, braiding her hair. All eyes turn to Lucinda, who doesn’t look up. Her raven hops closer, digs into her pocket. She bops the bird on the head, presses her palm over the opening so she can’t get in. Watch looks away, so do Photo, and Birdy, and Tooth and Burn and Dredge. Runner and Drummer, Siri and Twist, all stay looking at her--Siri with worry in her eyebrows, Twist with her face carefully blank, Runner with one arm pressed across her stomach and her other hand dug into Dredge’s thigh, Drummer tracing a grid into the dirt at her side. 

Lucinda looks up, makes eye contact with the women still looking at her.

“We did good today. We didn't kill anyone. We didn’t have to kill anyone.” She looks down again, wiggles her fingers at her raven so she hops into Lucinda’s lap. “Let’s keep that up.”

“Boss?” Tooth asks.

“Yeah?” Lucinda asks, turns around to look at her.

“What do we do when they fight back?”

“We make them listen,” Lucinda replies, turns back around to face the fire again. “Casualties will happen.”

The camp goes silent again, until Siri turns a page in her book, and Watch has tied off Photo’s braid and patted her shoulders, until Birdy’s baby makes a sad noise and Birdy shushes her, unbuttons her shirt.

Once the corn has been distributed, fruit lifted from the town and shoved into pockets peeled and shared around, once Dredge has co-opted Twist’s lap for a footrest and Twist has rolled her eyes at Dredge’s giant, supposedly-endearing grin, once things have settled back into the rhythm of camp life, Lucinda stands and dusts herself off, excuses herself past the edge of camp.

Birdy follows, baby passed off to Runner, who’s patting the baby’s back and bouncing her gently, trying to get her to burp.

“Boss?” Birdy asks, voice low.

“Yeah, Birdy?” Lucinda asks, half turns to face her.

“I--I don’t think I can do that again.”

“Alright.” Lucinda nods, digs for a match and a cigarette. Lights it before saying anything else. “Are you doing alright?” she asks.

“I--yeah. Alright,” Birdy agrees. “I just--don’t think I can do that again.”

“That’s alright,” Lucinda replies. “I’ll have Dredge do it, next time, I think.”

“She’s not very good at acting,” Birdy points out, taps her fingers against her arm. With the sun down, it’s getting cold, and the hair on her arms is standing straight up as she breaks into bumps.

“She doesn’t have to _act_. She just has to leave some truths out.”

“Do you trust _Dredge_ to keep her mouth shut?” Birdy asks, grins sideways at Lucinda.

“She sure fucking better,” Lucinda garbles around her cigarette. “All I need is for her to not say she’s still with the Legion. The rest she can tell the truth about. I think she can manage _that_ , especially if she keeps up the usual word vomit.”

Back around the campfire, Dredge laughs long and loud, starts in on a convoluted story about her husband and his brother hunting a family of deathclaws with just three skinning knives and a single arrow.

“Distract them with stories about that time she fought a yao guai in the woods when she needed to pee?” Birdy asks.

“Exactly,” Lucinda agrees. “She’s not stealthy enough to case the place without looking like she's casing the place, especially if she’s fucking thirty eight weeks pregnant. So she comes in, looks for friends, starts motormouthing at them. They don’t notice that she’s looking at everything the room, and how the room is laid out.”

“It’s a good plan,” Birdy agrees, nods. Looks off to the horizon, where the Milky Way disappears behind a rise.

“If you think Dredge could case and empty room and give a reliable report.”

Watch materializes at Lucinda’s other side, voice low. 

“Do you have a suggestion?” Lucinda asks, half turns to acknowledge Watch’s presence.

“Send Photo along. I rendezvous with the two of them, together, after three days--walk in, get the information from them, walk out, bring it back to you. If they’re there together, they might actually do what they’re supposed to.” Watch counts on her fingers--one two three--then opens her palm, taps her counting-fingers against the heel of her hand, then splays both hands, palm up.

“Dredge will do what I tell her,” Lucinda replies, looks back to the horizon.

“Don’t doubt it. Doubt how good the info will be.” There’s half a laugh in Watch’s words.

“And you think putting two of them together will help somehow?”

“Cross reference. Get one set, then the other, write off the variances and then work with what’s solid.”

Lucinda takes a drag on her cigarette, thinks for a moment before she offers it toward Watch. Watch shakes her head. 

“You have a point,” Lucinda says. “I’ll pass the information along to them. Thank you.”

“Yeah. Photo wants to talk to you, too. About what happened in the town.” Watch pauses. “She still doesn’t want to think that’s what it’s gonna be like.”

“I know,” Lucinda replies. “But she’s going to have to grow up.”

“She’s fifteen,” Birdy replies. “Doesn't she get a break? She’s still young.”

“I was married a year older than her, I’m not sure why she should be coddled.”

“Because she’s not you,” Birdy whispers. “It’s not right. Not right what they do to any of us.”

“That doesn’t change the fact they did it, and continue doing it. Coddling her because she’s the youngest won’t do her any favors, and there’s a good chance it’ll hurt our cause.”

All three are quiet, watch the horizon as the breeze bends the handful of yuccas scattered across the landscape. Watch reaches across Lucinda, taps the side of her wrist, taps her first two fingers and her thumb together. Lucinda huffs out her nose, passes the cigarette over. Watch takes a deep drag before passing it back.

“Didn’t think you smoked?” Lucinda comments, takes her own drag.

“I don’t. Bad for stealth. Not stealthing now though.” Watch shakes her head.

Lucinda turns her head away, back more towards Birdy, tucks her nose and mouth into the bend of her elbow to cough, deep and phlegmy. Leaves her arm there for a minute when the coughing subsides, waits to take three clean breaths without the cough returning to lower it.

“You should have the Doc look at that cough,” Birdy says.

“Yeah,” Lucinda agrees. “Tomorrow, maybe. She’s busy tonight.”

“She’s never busy when it comes to you,” Watch replies, grin in her voice as she squats, dirt crunching as her boots turn in the dirt. Lucinda raises one eyebrow, looks down at her from the corner of her eye. Watch twists her head, grins up at Lucinda, teeth bared and eyes squinched near-shut. She looks like she’s on the edge of bursting into laughter. “She’d stop Dredge giving birth if you had a splinter you needed tweezed.” Watch mimes tweezers with her thumb and her forefinger. Behind Lucinda, Birdy giggles into her hand.

Lucinda harrumphs, glares off at the horizon, sucks down another breath off her cigarette. Watch grins up at her again, before giggling once and slipping away into the dark--two crunches of dirt beneath her boots before that stops, too, and only a dark shape moves back to the firelight to hunker down next to Runner, press their shoulders together as Birdy’s baby starts to fuss. Birdy turns to face camp again, takes half a step back so she and Lucinda are comfortably in each others’ peripheral vision.

“I’ll talk to them tonight,” Lucinda says, flicks ash off her cigarette. “We’ll start moving tomorrow.”


	6. Chapter 6

**CONTENT WARNING: Mild violence**

 

“The boss is asleep, so’s everyone else.” 

“Even Watch?” Burn asks, leans in so her nose brushes Runner's shoulder.

“Well, not Watch,” Runner agrees, reaches for Burn’s buttons, starts undoing them from the top down. Burn starts from the bottom up.

“And Drummer? Are we going to round out this trio?”

“I’m here,” Drummer drawls, slides up behind Burn. “Watch says she’ll keep lookin’ the other way, so we got privacy.”

“Privacy of the whole night sky, yeah,” Runner laughs, low in her throat. She stands up on her knees, backs Burn up as Burn shucks her shirt, scoots back until she’s settled between Drummer’s legs. Runner rests one hand on Burn’s thigh, runs her other hand down Burn’s breastbone. “Might get a bit chilly.”

“I can handle chilly,” Bun snorts, unbuttons her pants and wiggles them down over her hips as Runner leans in to kiss her, and Drummer snakes her arms around to press warm fingers to Burn’s navel, then trail them lower.

“You’ll warm up quick,” Drummer murmurs, hooks her chin over Burn’s shoulder and wobbles her jaw so it touches Burn’s. “Here, up, sit on my scarf.” She unloops the baby blanket, folds it into something that might be a square, in the low light from the sliver of moon and the low coals, sets it under Burn’s butt whe she levers herself up, hands on Drummer’s thighs. “There we go,” Drummer murmurs, pats Burn’s bare legs with both her hands.

Burn settles back down, and Runner leans in to kiss her again, cups one breast in her palm. 

Drummer is the one who snakes her hands into Burn’s underwear, Burn hooking one leg over Drummer’s to give Drummer better access, Runner hooking her hand under the other. It’s Runner who presses Burn back, cages her against Drummer as Drummer plays with Burn’s clit, slides a finger into Burn. Burn who throws one arm around Runner’s bony shoulders, drags her down, curls the other arm as best she can around Drummer’s side and back, tries to muffle her gasps into Runner’s shoulder, even as they turn into desperate whimpers, backed by the grind of dry dirt and loud gravel and fraying denim on both, hard rubber of Drummer's boots and the slick sounds of her fingers, Runner’s soft noises of encouragement and Drummer’s answering hum.

The _fwap_ of a leather hat against their tangled arms, an angry groan from where the boss is huddled under a blanket, next to Siri.

“Pipe down,” the Boss growls, rolls onto her back, doesn't open her eyes. “I can hear you, shut up.”

“Sorry, Boss,” Drummer calls back, tries not to laugh. “Won’t happen again.”

“It better not,” the Boss agrees, rolls back onto her side, faces away from them. Scoots across the ground until she’s inches from Siri--maybe even touching, hard to tell in this light--and then stills.

Runner pulls back long enough to raise her eyebrows at Drummer and Burn both, then lean down to muffle her giggles into Burn’s neck, while Drummer laughs into Burn’s hair.

***

“Can you read and walk at the same time?” Photo asks, kicks at the rocks on the road with her hands in her pockets.

“I could, maybe,” Siri agrees. “I’d really rather not try, though. The road is rough enough I don’t want to trip.”

“Hmm.” Photo scowls at the cracked pavement, chews her bottom lip like she can come up with a solution that doesn’t involve asphalt and two-hundred-year-old chemicals and equipment.

“Uhhhh, hey, Doc?” Drummer calls from up ahead. “I, uh, got a lil friendly with a cactus a couple days ago, right, and I thought it’d just heal up alright?” She stops, holds up her bandage-wrapped hand. Well, it _was_ bandage-wrapped, now it’s unwrapped and a dangerous shade of red. “It’s lookin’ kinda funky today, and Runner’s agreeing with me, which means I probably oughta have you look at it too.”

“Bring it here,” Siri agrees, waves her over, sings her bag around on the new rope strap Twist wove the other day. Digs out the bottle of antibiotics and clean gauze, holds them up, shakes the bottle from side to side, one pinky extended. Drummer mimes a dramatic sigh, drags her feet for three steps before trotting over to join Siri, walk next to her as her as she tips the bottle over, dribbles antibiotic solution onto the gauze, presses it over the puncture wounds.

“Thanks, Doc.” Drummer trots back ahead, shows the new bandaging to Runner, who takes her wrist, turns her hand to admire it.

***

“Hey, Doc.”

“What is it, Watch?” Siri looks up from her medical book, sets it aside after placing the scrap of cloth that serves as a bookmark.

“I got a tickle in my chest, ain’t new, but I ain’t had a doctor before to look at it.”

“Sit down, then.” Siri turns, reaches for her bag, pulls out her stethoscope. Birdy had brought her a new one, from the doctor’s office in the first town, one with two ears and a shiny disc on the end, clean black rubber tubes. Brought a set of surgical instruments, too, a scalpel and forceps and bandage scissors, an aluminum tray to rest them on. A tangle of clean surgical tubing, now wound around an old yarn spool, counted out to something like thirty feet. A whole lset of new equipment, clean and unused and whole.

Watch settles down, legs crossed, hands in her lap. Sticks her chest out, breathes deeply a few times, until Siri places her stethoscope.

“Keep breathing,” Siri laughs after a moment. “I can’t hear anything wrong if you’re not breathing.”

“Right,” Watch agrees, manages half a laugh before she goes back to even, deep breathing.

“It doesn't sound like anything major, luckily. Most likely it’s a recurring chest cold, is all, or allergies.”

“‘S that really all?” Watch asks, plucks at her shirt collar as Siri sits back and puts her stethoscope away.

“Most likely. There’s a chance for a few other causes, but those are the most likely.”

“You got any theories about allergies?” Watch asks, picks her knees up so she can rest her elbows on them.

“Most likely it’s the barrel cactus pollen, although if you have a mineral allergy, there are plenty of those in all this dust.” Siri runs her finger through the coating of dirt on her doctor’s bag, holds up her finger, wipes it off on her pants after a moment of consideration. “It could be other environmental irritants, even just background radioactive particles.” Siri shrugs. “In that case, we could run a geiger counter over you, give you some radaway, but there’s no long-term condition to go with that.”

“Mm.” Watch nods.

“Boring?” Siri asks, quirks one eyebrow.

Watch raises one eyebrow back.

“A little,” she agrees, lets the smile creep across her face to answer Siri’s.

***

“Hey, Siri, can I use your tweezers?” Lucinda asks, holds up her hand where she's picking nat a splinter. “It’s wedged in there well enough I can’t get it with a fingernail.”

“That’s because your fingernails so short. Here, let me try.” Siri holds out her palm, and Lucinda shuffles closer, settles her hand into Siri’s.

Watch and Birdy look at each other, grin wide and then look to Dredge, just as soon as Lucinda can’t see them.

“Here, I’ll get it,” Siri murmurs, presses her fingernail into Lucinda’s palm, scrapes until the splinter catches and slides free. “There we go.” She flicks it away. 

“Thanks,” Lucinda murmurs, grins up at Siri.

“Any time,” Siri agrees, grins down at Lucinda.

***

“Hey, Twist?” Photo asks, rolls over onto her stomach, props her chin up with her hands, elbows digging into the ground, kicks her feet up behind her.

“Hm?” Twist asks, flips out her switchblade, begins to pick at her fingernails.

“What was your town like? Were there a lot of people there? Did you have any family? Did you have a husband? Ooh! Or maybe you had a wife, like Runner did? Was your wife pretty?”

“Didn’t have anyone,” Twist replies. Flicks dirt off the end of her switchblade.

“What about family? Did you have any brothers or sisters? I had three little brothers, one of ‘em still wears diapers, and he always stinks like…” she trails off. Sizes Twist up, and Twist watches her from one eye. “He smells like _shit_ ,” Photo finally says, presses one hand over her mouth like she’s going to get in trouble. Twist snorts, smiles.

“How old?” she asks.

“He’ll be two next month!” Photo replies, beams. “He’s really cute, he just smells bad, all the time, even after Mama changes him.”

“Babies do that,” Twist agrees. “You have sisters?”

“I have one sister, but she’s four years old and no fun to play with because she’s not big enough to do most stuff yet. Mostly she just follows Mama or Papa around the house. She likes to play with Papa’s tools, especially all his pocket knives. You know how little babies are, they always wanna touch the stuff that’ll hurt them the most.”

“Always do,” Twist agrees. She flicks her eyes between Photo and Lucinda. Photo doesn’t notice.

“So do you have any? Brothers or sisters, I mean.”

“One sister. Older than me. Had, not have.”

“Oh no!” Photo moans. “What happened to her? Did she just leave your family or did she…? Oh! And if she did, was it at least a really heroic sort of, uh, going?”

Twist shakes her head.

“Caught tuberculosis. Long way to die. Wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

Photo makes a soft noise, frowns.

“I’m sorry.”

“Was a long time ago.” Twist holds her hand out, wiggles her fingers, squints, brings them in again. “I was your age, or younger.”

“How old are you now?” Photo asks, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed as she tries to figure.

“Call it twice you, or more,” Twist replies, _snik_ s her switchblade shut. 

“Mmkay, so you’re probably _not_ older than Mama, that’s good to know.” Photo rolls onto her back, pats her stomach with her hands, tips her head back so she can look at Twist upside down. “What were your parents like?”

“They’ve been gone a long time too.” Twist puts her switchblade into her pocket, then pulls it out again a moment later to pass it back and forth in her hands.

“So you lived all alone?” Photo asks, smooths her dress down over her thighs.

“I had a dog,” Twist explains. “Big herding dog.”

“That’s still _basically_ alone.” Photo argues, rolls back onto her stomach so she can sit up. She crosses her legs, spreads her dress over her lap.

“You’ve never had a dog,” Twist replies, smiles down at her hands as she turns them this way and that, checks her picking job.

“Well, _no_ , but I’ve seen the village dogs around. They’re not very friendly. I don’t know why you would want to live with one.”

“Special bred, not a pariah,” Twist corrects. “Special bred are different.”

“Oh.” Photo taps her chin, considers for a moment. “Can you tell me about our dog?”

Twist snorts, but she smiles.

“Sure. Get comfy.”

***

“Boss!” Watch hops down off her rock, reaches for her revolver. “We got a problem.”

“What sort of problem?” Lucinda asks, straightens up to meet Watch’s eyes.

“Problem by the name of ‘lone buck deathclaw, looks hungry enough to eat all twelve of us and your bird for dessert.’”

Lucinda snorts.

“ _That_ sort of problem. What’s ETA?”

“If we keep moving, I’d give him four hours. We stop, I’d say two.”

“Where did you sight him?” Lucinda swings the gun down off her shoulder, checks the magazine.

“Top of the last hill, long ways off.”

“How do you know it’s a buck, not a female?”

“Horns are wrong.” Watch taps her forehead with her knuckles. 

“You can tell that, from this far away?” Lucinda raises one eyebrow, and around her, the others ready their weapons--Twist’s hand tightens on her repeater; Dredge breaks her shotgun to check both barrels; Tooth taps the magazine of her brush gun, considers for a moment; Runner and Burn swing their hunting rifles around; Drummer digs into her pocket for a handful of ammunition.

“Thought you kept me on watch for how good my eyes were,” Watch replies.

Lucinda smirks and shrugs.

“You got me there. Let’s get somewhere more defensible than this, we can set up a perimeter and keep him off us.”

“Uh, boss, y’know, no offense, but I’m not fighting a deathclaw,” Dredge gestures above her head, flattens her hand, indicates something a solid two feet above her head, “with a fuckin’ shotgun.”

“You’re also, what, nine months pregnant?” Lucinda asks. “You weren't gonna fight him anyway.”

“Well, shit, that wasn't the answer I was hoping for,” Dredge replies, grimaces.

“If it’ll make you feel better, you’ll be in the back, keeping it off Birdy, Photo, and Doc if he breaks our line.”

“With a fuckin’ shotgun?” Dredge asks, lifts said shotgun, her hand around the action.

“If it gets past the rest of us, your fucking shotgun should be able to take care of it. Watch, you’re with them too, since you’re not hunting a deathclaw with a revolver.”

“But, Boss, I heard you killed a deathclaw with a really small pistol,” Photo pipes up. “Why can’t Watch do it?”

“That story is an embellishment of the truth, and I had less to lose than Watch does,” Lucinda sighs, flicks her eyes toward the sky. Her raven is circling.

“Yeah, but--” Photo tries to argue, and Watch punches her in the shoulder.

“You want me around to shoot deathclaws for you, or not?” Watch asks. 

“Oh,” Photo replies, goes quiet.

Behind them, Burn giggles.

They continue on in silence, everyone’s hands close to their guns, Watch hopping up a rock every chance she gets to survey the deathclaw’s progress behind them.

Two hours into their walk--Watch amends her estimate at hour one, to three and a half hours if they keep moving, two and a half hours from when she said it and an hour and a half now--Dredge falters, feet dragging in the gravel.

“Hey, Boss, I got another complication for you.”

“Is it what I think it is?” Lucinda asks, catches up to Dredge, glances up at her.

“If you’re thinking ‘Dredge’s baby’s decided it’s his time to escape the womb,’ then yeah, it is what you think it is.”

“Just what we needed to make our day a little more interesting.” Lucinda reaches up, claps Dredge on the shoulder, trots ahead. “Now you’re really staying with Siri. Watch, how do you feel about a shotgun?”

“Like my revolver more,” Watch calls over. She’s balanced on the point of a rock, feet together, arms out to keep her balance. “Birdy might be able to man the shotgun, though, if Photo’ll hold the baby.”

“Birdy?” Lucinda calls.

“Just show me how,” Birdy agrees, brows drawn down and mouth set. Her baby fusses in her sling.

“C’mere,” Dredge agrees, waves Birdy to herself. “Alright, see, here’s your shotgun. Don’t matter how it works, I can tell you all that later. You point the long end at the deathclaw, and you pull the trigger. You got that?” Dredge sets the shotgun into Birdy’s hands, rearranges until her hands are right.

“Mm-hmm,” Birdy agrees.

“Right. You can pull that trigger twice before you gotta reload, so make ‘em count. For a deathclaw, you wanna aim for the soft bits right below the ribcage,” Dredge throws her shoulders back, lifts her chest, pats the top of her belly, “or into their open mouth,” she opens her muth, taps one finger against its roof, “when they’re up real close. That way you’re gettin’ either the real soft vital organs, or you can maybe blow out their brainpan of your shot is lucky.”

“Got it,” Birdy agrees, levels the shotgun.

“Whoa, whoa, don’t go shootin’ it now. Twist is ahead of us, and I like her, and want her to keep havin’ a head, yeah? Here, off to the side, away from the rest of us.” Dredge shuffles Birdy in front of her, then off to her side, has her aim off toward the horizon, away from the rest of the column. Birdy fires off two shots, flinches at both, and her baby starts wailing.

“Watch, how much time do we have?”

“Give him an hour, boss, and he’ll be too close for me to be comfy.” Watch hops down off her rock and trots over to Lucinda. “My advice is to send those four ahead, maybe with someone with a gun along, and the rest of us go straight for him, meet him halfway, lay an ambush maybe if you feel so inclined.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Lucinda agrees, nods. “Twist, you keep with those four. The rest of you, with me.”

“Lucy--” Siri starts, scowls and leans her head in.

“I’ve fought more deathclaws, by myself, without the backup.” Lucinda plucks at the lapels of her coat. “We’ll be fine. You help Dredge along, you prepare for any injuries we might come back with, you keep moving ahead as long as you can. Got it?”

“Lucy, I don’t like this plan,” Siri replies, puts her hands on her hips. Lucinda narrows her eyes. “If any of you is injured, we might be too far ahead to get her medical care in time.”

“We’ll be fine, Siri,” Lucinda repeats. She tips her chin down, her hat back. “Light a smoky fire so we can find you. Now, go. As far as you can, as straight west as you can.”

Siri takes a deep breath, holds Lucinda’s gaze for a moment, then blows it out in a huff.

“Fine. Do your best to not get any life-threatening injuries.”

“We’ll keep the friendly fire to a minimum, Doc,” Lucinda agrees, plucks the brim of her hat between her fingers. “With me, you five. Tooth, Runner, you’re on lead. Watch, stick with me, Drummer, Burn, you two follow in the rear.” Lucinda points, turns her back on Twist, Siri, Dredge, Photo, Birdy. Photo reaches for Birdy’s hand, and Birdy obliges, winds their fingers together. Twist drapes her arm over Dredge’s shoulders, steers her ahead, and Siri follows, swings her bag around to her front to start digging for what she needs, and Photo and birdy follow last, hand in hand, Birdy with Dredge’s shotgun gripped white-knuckled in her other hand.

***

“I’d give him twenty minutes, Boss, and he looks real starved.” Watch shields her eyes from the sun, wobbles on top of her lookout rock.

“Are all of you ready?” Lucinda asks. Tooth and Runner both nod, split to the right and the left, Tooth’s brush gun in her hand, Runner’s hunting rifle at her hip. 

“Yeah,” Burn agrees, trots back a few dozen feet, scales a rock so she has a better vantage point, drops to one knee and readies her own hunting rifle. Drummer drops back, parallel to her, stays on the ground and readies her repeater.

“Watch?” Lucinda asks, squints up at Watch, who stays balanced on her rock.

“How long you think you can outrun him, Boss?” she asks.

“I can keep ahead for five minutes, at least,” Lucinda replies, drops her gaze to watch the moving speck on the horizon. 

“Count five minutes and they get a move on. You should meet pretty close to that, and then you just gotta get him and and sprint back through our bottleneck here.” Watch drops her hand, glances down at Lucinda. “Hope you’re good at the roll’n’shoot, and that you’re as fast as you think you are. Doc’ll tan you if you’re not.”

Lucinda snorts, grins out at the deathclaw.

“I _know_ I can run faster than her. She’s a town-born doctor, not tribe-born hunter. Had Runner after me, on the other hand, I’d be worried.”

Runner laughs from her place by a cactus, thumps the butt of her repeater into the dirt. 

“I dunno, Boss, the Doc could probably give me some real good incentive to chase you down. You saw how she went off at Dredge for talkin’ about drinking while she’s got a baby growin’. Can’t imagine she'd be much nicer to you.”

“She would be,” Lucinda replies, tucks her shoulders back like she has her hands on her hips. “How well you know her?”

“I know her well enough to say she’d tan your hide if she caught you after the deathclaw did,” Watch offers. “Your five minutes are counting up, Boss, so you’d better get a move on and keep your legs moving good.”

Lucinda nods, rearranges her gun into the crook of her arm. “Be ready for me to come back through.”

“ _Salve_ ,” Watch agrees, and Lucinda nods, begins her jog toward the growing shape of the deathclaw.

***

“We could make a run for it,” Twist murmurs. She’s kneeling next to Dredge, who has an arm over her shoulders, her legs spread so Siri can work. “She couldn’t find us if we just disappeared into the NCR now. They’d take us, gladly, we have information they--”

“No,” Siri replies. “We’re days out from any civilization, and I don’t know if you’ve met Lucy but,” she sits up, presses her palms into her thighs, look Twist in the eye, “she wouldn’t let _you_ just go. Besides, Dredge is dilated enough the baby should be on its--”

“His,” Dredge corrects.

“ _His_ way out, any time now. They’ll deal with the deathclaw and be back before we could make significant progress.”

“When’s the last time you tried to run?” Twist asks. “Have you ever?”

“No,” Siri replies, bares her teeth, curls her hands into fists, can't meet Twist’s gaze. “Alive and enslaved is better than dead and free.”

“You sound like her.” Twist rolls her head, indicates Lucinda.

“Shit, Twist, you ain’t met her tribe. She’s meaner’n most of ‘em, but every single one of ‘em is like that.” Dredge grunts. “An’ she’s clearly picked up Doc here as one of _hers_ so I mean, ain’t no talk against you, Doc, but you probably got that sort of bend to you too.”

“I can't help anyone if I’m dead,” Siri replies, takes a deep breath, holds it, lets it go. Closes her eyes as she breathes again.

“I’d rather be dead than Legion,” Twist murmurs. 

“Then why ain’t you offed yourself yet?” Dredge asks, laughs and tips her head back until she hits Twist’s arm. “Think you’re more attached to bein’ alive than you wanan think you are.”

Twist grunts.

“If you aren’t all going to run with me, I’ll go by myself.”

Photo creeps closer, and Birdy lets her go.

“Can I come with you?” she asks. “I don’t wanna go to the next town. I don’t want to hurt them.”

“Yeah, you can come,” Twist agrees. 

“Photo, she’s not just gonna let you go,” Birdy murmurs. “She won’t just let you go either, Twist, like Doc said. She wants all of us with her.”

“I know,” Twist replies. “And how much would it cripple whatever the fuck her operation here is if we left? That’s what I’m playing.”

“Not at all,” Siri says, just as Dredge opens her mouth. Dredge nods and looks between Siri and Twist. “She’s done more, with less, and with greater handicaps than losing two people.”

“One of you doesn’t carry a weapon and ain’t got any sort of Legion-ing experience,” Dredge nods at Photo, “and the other of you barely listens to her anyway anymore. What’s she losing? A couple meat shields?”

Photo whimpers.

“Ain’t gonna slow her down, sweetheart,” Dredge says, reaches up to pat Twist’s cheek. “Might speed her up if she gets angry enough.”

“She won’t get angry.” Birdy shakes her head. “She told me she wouldn’t try to hunt me down, she’d just keep on doing this.”

“You ain’t Twist,” Dredge replies. “What are you gonna do to sell her out? No one listens to girls your age, anyway, even if they should. Ain’t saying they shouldn’t listen, just that they won’t. Boss is an asshole, not stupid.” Dredge snorts and shakes her head.

“I know,” Birdy replies, tucks her legs up. She leaves the shotgun laying next to her baby. “But she can probably take a town by herself if she wanted.”

“I heard she’s killed a lot of people,” Photo offers. “She would have to kill a whole town probably to take it.”

“She would,” Siri says, gestures for Dredge to shift back. “And, more importantly, she could.”

“You know that for sure?” Twist asks, fixes Siri with a dark look.

“I do,” Siri agrees. “I had a front row seat to everything that happened in the Mojave. Even with some embellishment, she’s--” Siri pauses, takes a deep breath. “She’s done worse than that, I’m sure.”

“Well, shit, what’s she gotten up to?” Dredge asks, laughs. “Gimme the dirt.”

Siri just shakes her head.

***

She had fired one shot at the deathclaw, pinged his shoulder over his scaley parts, just pissed him off without inflicting any sort of damage.

And now she’s running.

She can see Watch perched atop her rock, revolver at the ready, Burn on her own rock, hunting rifle held steady, Toot hand Drummer and Runner too low to the ground, too well-camouflaged to be seen from this distance.

She can hear the huff of the deathclaw behind her, a huff and a wet growl and then a suck of air, a cycle that would be mesmerizing if she couldn't also hear the slice of claws into the dirt, the whip of his tail through the air, she scratch of scales against each other, the slick sound of a tongue against teeth and slobber dripping from his mouth.

If she lets her imagination work, she can feel his breath on the back of her neck.

The coat is slowing her down, so as she runs she hooks her rifle strap behind her neck, tries not to miss a step, sheds her coat with a roll of her shoulders and a shove backward, almost catches her heel on it as it falls. Makes three steps before his footsteps change, the sound of padded skin on leather, and then padded skin on gravel again, and now she _can_ feel his breath on her neck, but she can see all the hunters, their weapons ready and aiming, and she tries for one last burst of speed, dodges between rocks, hears him scrape between them, claws scrabbling, breath hot and wet, and as she breaks from the rocks he’s right behind, one claw reaching, missing her by little enough she can feel the breeze form it, feel the slice that didn't connect frisson up her spine. She wings her rifle strap over onto her shoulder

Tooth fires first, the blast from her brush gun sending the deathclaw staggering, and Runner and Burn fire next, hunting rifles blasting together, then Watch fires, three shots in rapid succession, and then Drummer fires last, empties her magazine, eleven shots into the deathclaw’s belly that have him staggering side to side, limping, faltering, as Lucinda sprints past Watch, then Tooth and Runner, then Durmerm and Burn, her lungs burning and legs wobbling.

The deathclaw hits the gravel, lets out a low wheeze. Lucinda hits the gravel, too, on hands and knees, chest and arms prickling as the adrenaline overtake her and her arms start to shake.

“We did it,” Watch observes, quiet. There are cicadas picking up, again, although the crickets are silent in the afternoon heat. The only sound is breathing--Tooth and Runner and Watch, barely audible, Burn and Drummer breathing quick but soft, Lucinda still gasping for air, before she breaks into a hacking cough. Watch saunters over, squats next to her, offers a canteen. Lucinda takes it, leans her weight on it as she tries to catch her breath.

“I’ll be fine,” Lucinda chokes out.

“You really oughta have Doc look at that cough.”

“She’ll just tell me it’s from smoking,” Lucinda replies.

“Probably is,” Burn offers.

“Didn’t ask your opinion,” Lucinda replies. She finally sits back, breath still coming in short gasps, but no longer coughing.

Tooth comes trotting over, after a minute, hauling Lucinda's coat.

“The hell you keep in thid thing? How d’you haul it around?” She drops it in front of Lucinda, who reaches for its pockets to fumble out a pack of cigarettes and a matchbox.

“Anything I might need,” Lucinda replies, lights a cigarette. “You’d be surprised.”

“Probably not, just, holy hell how d’you lug that thing around all the time? Weighs a fuckin’ ton.”

“The price you pay for bulletproofing,” Lucinda replies, kicks the coat open to show off the bulletproof vest sewn into the torso. “Let me finish this cigarette and then we can grab our packs, get back to the others.”

“We just gonna leave the deathclaw?” Runner asks.

“Unless you wanna work up something to haul it in to butcher it, yeah,” Lucinda agrees. “Don’t have the resources with us to get it in.”

Tooth grunts, leans back on one leg to survey the deathclaw. She shrugs at Runner, who shrugs back.

***

“They’re on their way back,” Birdy says. She’s moved up onto a rock, turned her eyes back the way they came as Photo tries to build a smoky fire under Twist’s direction.

“You think the baby is close to coming?” Dredge asks, whines low in her throat.

“Yes,” Siri agrees, doesn’t say any more.

“More of those,” Twist directs, and Photo obliges by tossing more yucca leaves on the fire. 

“They'll be here in maybe half an hour. Before sundown, at the very least,” Birdy adds, opens her shirt as her baby starts to fuss again.

“Maybe they’ll bring back dinner,” Dredge laughs. “Could go for something right about now.”

“Doesn't look like they are,” Birdy offers. “Unfortunately.”

“Well, damn,” Dredge grunts.

***

Watch sits up next to Birdy, neither speaking, and Tooth, Burn, and Drummer drop down next to the fire, flank Photo, who can’t look at Lucinda as she and Runner kneel next to Siri. Lucinda doesn’t notice, doesn't look to anyone who stayed in the camp except Siri, who’s watching Dredge.

***

“What’s he look like?” Dredge asks, leans her weight into Twist, who pets her hair without a word. “He look like me, or look like his Da?”

“Well--” Siri starts, wipes the baby off.

“ _She_ mostly look squashed right now,” Lucinda laughs, offers the towel to Siri to wrap the baby. “Doesn’t have your eyes, though, must be her father’s.”

“Ah, shit,” Dredge laughs. “I fucked up, huh, babe?” she asks, takes the baby in her arms. “Yeah, you look like your Da, don’t you, sweetheart, look just like him. He’d be proud of you, hon, so proud.” She traces one finger across her baby’s hairline, down her nose, taps her chin with one fingertip.

“What are you going to name her?” Lucinda asks, helps Siri gather up the bloodstained blankets.

“Think I’ll keep that between be and the babe and whatever I can find of my tribe, Boss, if you don’t mind.” Dredge looks up at Lucinda, eyes heavy-lidded and tired. She gives a slow smile.

“Of course,” Lucinda agrees, nods. “You rest up.” She turns to the rest of the women. “We’ll camp here for a few days, then I’ll brief Dredge and Photo, and we’ll move on the next town.”

The rest of the women nod, look between each other before letting their eyes drift closed or turning their gaze back to the fire or the cured gecko Runner pulled from her pack to roast over the fire.


	7. Chapter 7

**CONTENT WARNING: Violence, gore, genuinely shitty human beings _winning_**

 

It’s dawn, and if Dredge and Photo have the vaguest sense of time, and if Watch got everything correct, the town should at least be _moving_.

Instead, there’s nothing. 

Door are locked, shut the way Dredge says they only do overnight to keep out the nightstalkers and the coyotes. There isn’t a single person out in the fields, no one at the windmill-well to the east of town, no one on the front porch of the general store on the main street in any of the half dozen rocking chairs.

“Twist,” Lucinda murmurs, stands at the top of main street, holds one hand up. The rest of the team--Runner, Drummer, Burn, Tooth, Watch, Twist--stops, spreads out behind Lucinda. “Twist, take Drummer with you to the south end of town. Check for anyone, anywhere.”

“Sure thing, Boss,” Drummer agrees. Twist doesn’t even grunt.

“Watch, Tooth, Burn, you three take the east side of town. Runner, you’re with me, we'll take the west.”

“What’re you expecting?” Watch asks.

“Ambush.” Lucinda replies, grips her rifle for a moment before pausing, swinging it back onto her shoulder, and pulling out her machete instead. “Keep your eyes open and your wits about you, and keep your faces covered. Look for Dredge and Photo, first, make sure they’re not in danger, and then try to take anyone down. If someone shoots at you, you’re authorized to shoot back. Now go.”

They all nod, cover their faces, split the way Lucinda instructed.

“Boss?’ Runner asks, voice low as they circle behind the second row of shacks off main street. “Don’t like this. Too quiet, even for an ambush.”

“Someone made a mistake,” Lucinda agrees. “Matter is who made the mistake.”

“Had to be Dredge or Photo. Watch ain’t like that, Watch ain’t got anything to gain by lying.”

“Dredge and Photo don’t have anything to gain by fucking us over either,” Lucinda replies, bares her teeth.

“Well, shit, you met Dredge. Ain’t gotta intend to fuck up to say something wrong,” Runner points out. “And Photo’s real little, and she’s been listenin’ a lot to what Twist is sayin’. Twist has some points, Boss, you really gotta check in with her.”

“I will, later,” Lucinda snaps, bares her teeth wider. “Shit, I hope they only have as many weapons as Watch could guarantee.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Runner laughs. “Give ‘em at least half more.”

“If they have that many guns, we’re fucked,” Lucinda growls. “No one’s out, which means either the houses are empty or they’re waiting.”

“I’d bet on the second. Depends what either of ‘em said, but there ain’t many of us. Outnumber us five to one. Easy to fight numbers like that.”

“We’re Legion. It still won't be an easy fight, if I have anything to say about it.”

Above them, Lucinda’s bird _kronk_ s.

***

“I thought the boss was supposed to be here today?” Photo whispers.

“She will be,” Dredge agrees, pats Photo’s back. Their guard watches them, shotgun slung across her lap, eyelids heavy, fingers tapping along to whatever song is playing on the radio now--something about a man and a guitar.

“If you can give us anymore information, we can let you go,” the guard offers again, as Dredge hikes her shirt up and off one arm, holds her baby in place so she can nurse. Dredge leans back against the shack wall, crosses her legs up on the grimy mattress. Photo huddles against her.

“Think I’ll pass, ma’am, if you don't mind.”

“Fine,” the guard agrees. Slightly less droop-eyed than she was, watches Dredge’s hands as she starts tapping to the radio too, studies Photo as Photo fidgets with the hem of her dress. “What time is your _boss_ showing up here?”

“Dunno, wouldn’t share even if I did,” Dredge replies. “Don’t like bein’ locked up in a room and bein’ told my freedom’s dependent on how well I fall into line.”

“You know I can’t let you go,” the guard responds.

“Course not.” Dredge snorts. “But don’t go expectin’ me to tell you jack shit. Boss may be Legion, but at least she lets me out of a goddamn room.”

“Dredge, you’re gonna make it worse,” Photo whispers, casts a nervous glance at the guard, who is now watching them with open eyes and renewed interest.

“Ain’t no such thing as _worse_ , kiddo,” Dredge drawls in response. “If it ain’t scraping for food, it’s Legion, and if it ain’t Legion, it’s shitty people being in charge, and if it ain’t shitty people in charge it’s bein’ locked in a fuckin’ room. It’s all fuckin’ the same, when you get down to it.”

There’s a crunch of footsteps outside, and the guard is out of her chair in a moment, throws the door open, levels her shotgun--

 _Boom_ and there’s the sound of a lever-action being cycled, and the guard goes toppling back, her face mangled and the back of her head pulped.

Photo stares in horror at the guard's corpse, makes a soft, high pitched noise as she scoots further away, presses her hands over her mouth. Can’t bring herself to blink as the guard’s blood begins to pool on the ground.

Lucinda steps around the corner.

“Got your shotgun,” Lucinda says, holds Dredge’s shotgun up by the action. “If you’re up for it.”

“Gimme ten minutes, boss, so El here can finish up with breakfast.”

“Right, Lucinda agrees, takes three steps into the shed--steps in the pool of blood with the first, tracks it inside. She holds out Dredge’s shotgun, and Dredge takes it without a word.

Lucinda looks to Photo.

“You can stay here, or you can go hide somewhere else, but if this is your reaction to _that_ ,” she points to the guard with the barrel of her gun, then swings it back around so it's almost in position to fire, “then this whole town is going to be a nightmare for you, Photo.”

Photo just stares with wide eyes.

“I brought your camera, if you want it,” Lucinda offers, swings the camera bag Birdy made for Photo off her shoulder.

Photo still stares, hands trembling. Lucinda blinks at her, then sets the camera bag on the edge of the bed, between Dredge’s thigh and Photo’s foot.

“Both of you, try not to get shot. I have questions, later.” She looks between them, expression unchanging, waits for acknowledgement.

“It was me, Boss,” Dredge says by way of acknowledgement. “Mouth got away from me, and they added shit up. My fault.”

“I have questions, _later_ ,” Lucinda repeats. “Now you feed El and then meet in the square. Catch up with Twist and Drummer if you can, if not, meet on the main street. Anyone tries to shoot you, shoot them first. Are we clear?”

“Yes ma’am,” Dredge agrees, nods.

Lucinda nods.

“Good.”

She turns and leave the shack, doesn’t look back, just raises her gun again. She’s out of their view in a moment, footsteps soft on the hard dirt, even in heavy boots.

Photo fumbles for her camera after a moment, still unblinking, and points it at the guard's corpse.

There’s a click and a whirr, and she puts the camera away.

“You gonna look at that some day any different than you’re lookin’ at it now?” Dredge asks, eyes focused on the back of the house in front of them, where the whitewash is peeling off under the eaves. Determinedly not looking at the pool of blood, the corpse, the footprints in the dirt.

“Maybe,” Photo replies, turns so she faces the wall easier, puts her hand up to block her own vision.

“Shit, kid, good luck,” Dredge murmurs, reloads her shotgun one-handed, watches the doorway for anyone’s return or appearance.

***

He’s young, so young, older than she had been when the Legion came, older than Birdy is now for sure, but still practically a _boy_. But he has a gun leveled at her, lip trembling, eyes wide, and she whacks the barrel away as he discharges it, shoots his bullet into the roof with an eardrum-shattering boom. She wrenches the gun from his hands, tosses it aside, and wrestles him around.

“You will go to the town square without incident,” Lucinda growls into his ear, keeps his arm pinned, twisted, pressed between their bodies. Two little boys peek out from behind a doorframe, eyes wide, and Lucinda looks the larger in the eye. “Bring your brothers with you.”

“Yes, yes,” he agrees, voice catching. “Please don’t hurt them, please, please, I can’t let them--”

“I won’t hurt them,” Lucinda growls. “Now you give me some information. Which houses have guns?”

“I don’t know,” he says, tries to jerk his head at his brothers to tell them to hide again.

“Yes you do,” Lucinda replies, leans her weight on him a little more, until he squeaks and gasps. “Which houses?”

“I don’t have to-” he starts.

“I said I wouldn’t hurt _them_ but I said nothing about _you_.” She twists just a bit harder.

“Three houses up, blue door,” he whines.

“What kind of gun?”

“I don’t know!”

“Yes you do,” Lucinda replies. Keeps her voice level, listens to the room. The gun is still where it fell, the radio buzzes so low in the corner she can’t make out any words, outside her raven _kronk_ s once and then falls silent again.

“Like yours,” he finally wibbles after a long, near-silent second. “Lever action, but smaller.”

“Thank you,” Lucinda says, lets her actual thanks-smile leak into it. “Now, come with me. You too, boys, we aren’t going far, I won’t hurt you.”

“Come on,” he calls to his brothers, who lean out around the doorframe again.

“If you’ll just come with me,” Lucinda says to the boy, lets go of his arm, circles around so he’s in front of her, swings her rifle around so he’s at the end of the barrel. “That would be peachy.”

“Where are we going?” he asks, starts walking when her rifle bumps his back.

“The main square,” Lucinda replies. “You’ll stay there until we’re done.”

“How many of you are there?” He asks. Tries to couch it as a casual question, as if it’s not obvious what he’s doing.

“More than enough,” Lucinda replies. “Now pipe down.”

***

There are four of them in this shack: an old woman with a shotgun, arms withered but her expression hard; a man Twist’s age, probably, holding a screaming infant in one arm; a woman Siri’s age under his other arm, tear tracks down her face and dark circles under her eyes.

The old woman fires the shotgun as Lucinda steps through the door, sends Lucinda staggering back a moment before she hurls herself forward again, gets her hand around the barrel and wrenches it away.

“You’ll damn yourself for sure if you try that again,” Lucinda growls, gets into the old woman’s face. 

“I didn’t make it this long so you Legion sorts,” the old woman grabs Lucinda’s centurion scarf, yanks her forward so they’re chest to chest, “could kill my daughter and granddaughter.” 

“Then if you’re lucky, they won’t draw short straws, since you’ve already damned yourself into decimation.” Lucinda shoves the old woman back, and she staggers before toppling to the floor. “Get up, all of you are going to the town square. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

“We’ll never bow to the Legion,” the old woman spits, gets up on her elbows as her son-in-law, apparently, tries to help without letting go of his wife. “Never.”

“If you two would go to the town square.” Lucinda turns to the couple with the baby. “That would be best. Don’t try anything _funny_.”

The woman nods, tugs her husband along. They nearly flee the house, hand in hand, heads down, the baby making soft noises of distress that turn into wails as they go down the street.

“You, come with me. You don’t go anywhere without a guard.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” the old woman replies, crosses her arms over her chest.

Lucinda sighs, bends down, and hauls her upright by the armpit.

“Let’s _go_ ,” she grunts.

***

He swings, and she ducks easy, punches him hard in the gut, just beneath his ribcage, so he double over, gags, spits up bile on her boots. She leans down, fists the front of his shirt, drags him up to his knees.

“You try that shit again and you won’t even get a chance at the drawing.” She draws her bowie knife, holds the tip under his chin. He tips his head back, raises his hands to grapple, and she digs the knife in until blood beads. He whimpers. “Are we clear?” She asks, steps forward so her knees bump his stomach and he’s forced to lean back to meet her eyes.

He nods, eyes wide.

***

“Thought Legion territory was safer than NCR,” she says, holds her hands up when Lucinda gestures with her gun.

“It is,” Lucinda agrees. “And you’re still in NCR territory.”

“Guess I shoulda seen this coming, with the Dam, huh?” the guard asks, laughs. Her hand shoots for her sawed-off, and Lucinda fires a warning shot into the dirt next to her foot.

“Next time, I don’t miss. Unholster it, drop it on the ground, keep walking.”

“Sure thing, lady, anything you say.” She draws the gun, slowly, drops it, slowly, steps away, slowly. Lucinda keeps her gun trained on the middle of her back the entire time. “Where we going?” she asks, breathes loud.

“Town square. We’re running a _lottery_.” Her voice drisp with distaste, and the woman tries not to laugh.

***

“I’m sure you’ll understand why I ain’t so eager to join up with everyone in the middle of town,” the ghoul growls from behind his desk-and-mattress barricade.

“Thats’ too fuckin’ bad,” Lucinda replies, stands in the doorway, coat tucked closed. The ghoul has a pistol, already shot at her once, will probably do it again. “If you keep shooting, you have no chance. You come with me, you at least have some sort of chance.”

“Ain’t a real _good_ chance under the Legion,” he replies.

“ _Is_ a chance,” Lucinda fires back. “Now come out here before I shoot you where you stand.”

There's a long moment of silence, their breathing loud in the empty room, before there’s a clack of metal on linoleum and the ghoul steps around the barricade, hands up.

“Don’t try anything funny,” Lucinda orders, steps aside, keeps her gun trained on him as he walks toward the door.

***

Most of the town is already in the town square, blockaded in by the rest of the team--all with their faces covered, all with guns drawn, all silent except to cut off escape routes as people jostle into each other.

Photo is off on the front porch of the general store, camera in hand and eyes wide. She has a bandana over her face, but nothing else to obscure her identity.

Lucinda is bringing the last ones in--a couple farmhands, and elderly man who leans so heavily on his cane it’s a wonder he can move at all, and a farmer, who had fired off one round from his varmint rifle before Lucinda had tackled him to the floor, pinned him with a knee to the groin and a hand on his throat, dragged him back to his feet with a machete at his neck and marched him in front of his farmhands.

That makes everyone, as far as they can tell.

She sends Drummer out with scraps of pre-war clothing and her box of matches, directs her to the driest fields. In the middle of the crowd, someone yells, shushed by the people around her.

Lucinda hops up on top of a stack of boxes Runner and Tooth assembled into something like a platform.

“We’ll be running a lottery!” she calls out over the crowd. “Everyone over sixteen, to that side of the square,” she points to her left. “Everyone under sixteen, that way.” She points to her right.

People begin to sort out, but a handful of families linger in the middle, parents clinging to children. The boy with two brothers hugs both of them, casts a nervous glance up at Lucinda, doesn’t move even as the crowd around him thins.

“I have a baby!” the woman whose mother put up a fight calls. “She can’t live without me.”

“Hand her to him,” Lucinda picks someone at random, points at the boy---maybe twelve--who stands at the front of the under-sixteen side. “He’ll hold her until we’re done here.”

“But I don’t--” the woman starts, and the blood drains from her face as she meets Lucinda’s eyes, as Lucinda’s face fails to even twitch. She steps across the gap, and the boy comes up to her, holds out his arms. She arranges him, passes the baby down, presses her palm to the top of the baby’s head.

Next to the general store, Dredge’s baby sets up a wail. Another follows suit, and then a toddler begins to cry.

“Twist, how many adults do we have?” Lucinda calls to Twist, who pauses a moment, taps out her fingers.

“We have sixty, even, ma’am.”

“Burn, how many dice do you have?”

“Two, ma’am,” Burn replies.

“Count the adults into ten groups of six, and then bring the dice to me.”

“Yes ma’am,” goes the soft chorus, and with some shuffling, Dredge starts pointing people around. Drummer comes trotting back, a column of smoke rising from the fields in her direction, and she joins Dredge.

The crowd is silent, except for the crying babies.

Lucinda keeps her gun poised.

Burn brings the dice up, and Drummer counts out the groups--one, two, three, up to ten.

Lucinda rolls the dice, studies the numbers for a moment, looks to the groups of people huddled together, counts. Looks down at the dice again.

“Are your dice loaded, Burn?” she asks, voice low.

“All roll the same dice, doesn’t do me good to load the dice if everyone rolls the same,” Burn replies, fiddles with the fraying button cover of her heavy canvas jacket.

Lucinda looks back at the huddled townspeople, meets the old woman’s eyes.

 

Stares at the old woman, the farmer, the man who tried to punch her, the boy with two brothers, the ghoul with the pistol, the caravan guard, as they all stare back at her, some resigned--the farmer, the the caravan guard, the boy--and some near-incandescent--the old woman, the man who tried to fight, the ghoul.

“Group seven, your number rolled. Line up here,” Lucinda orders, points to the open patch of dirt in front of her platform. Side by side, face away from me.”

“Boss,” Photo starts, and Dredge rounds on her before she can say anything else, taps one finger against her own lips and points for Photo to go stand in the alley between the general store and the house next to it. Photo scowls, doesn't move, and Dredge nods once, slowly, turns her back.

Group seven slowly walks to where they were instructed, lines up.

The caravan guard stands at one end, the ghoul next to her, the farmer next to him, the man who took a swing next to _him_. The boy-- barely-man, Lucinda corrects herself, can’t think of him as a _boy_ and still do this-- stands next to the old woman, second to last in the line.

She considers for a moment, then hops down off her box, lines herself up behind the caravan guard. Raises her gun, takes aim.

_Boom _, lever down, case ejected, lever up.__

__A single step to her right, lines the gun up again, ignores the crying from the under-sixteens, the gasps from the adults. The ghoul doesn’t move, stays standing stock-still, hands at his side._ _

___Boom _, lever down, case ejected, lever up.__ _ _

____A single step to her right. Can see the farmer’s jaw twitch, his hands clench. He twitches, not enough to throw her off._ _ _ _

_____Boom _, lever down, case ejected, lever up.__ _ _ _ _

______A single step to her right. He’s crying, tears running down his cheeks and dropping into the dirt. The crying is coming from everyone, now, sniffles and strangled sobs, gasps as someone tries to pull in enough air that it won’t come out as a cry._ _ _ _ _ _

_______Boom _, lever down, case ejected, lever up.__ _ _ _ _ _ _

________A single step to her right. He’s holding the hand of the old woman next to him. He raises one hand, waves to his brothers, and Lucinda can see him smile. He waves at his brothers, gestures for them to turn around, as they watch with wide eyes. She waits until they do to raise her gun._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________Boom _, lever down, case ejected, lever up.__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________A single step to her right. Photo is sobbing now, camera raised, hands shaking so bad that whatever photograph she gets will be a jagged, smeary mess. The old woman crosses her arms, raises her chin, scowls at the horizon._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________Boom _, lever down, case ejected, lever up.__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Lucida turns and hops back up onto her box. Doesn’t look at the corpses in front of her, their bodies splayed, their heads pulped, blood pooling, running together and snaking its way away from Lucinda’s platform._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The rest of her team is watching her, eyes wide, mouths set._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Round everyone up, take them to the barn.” She points toward the the other end of town. “They’ll stay there until the men get here to deal with them._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Sure thing, Boss,” Burn agrees, nods, turns around to face the crowd as she drops the dice back into her pouch._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The rest of the team herds the crowd of people--merging back together, parents huddling with their children, someone taking charge of the two boys without a caretaker--over toward the barn, as Lucinda stands on her platform and watches them go._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

***

They send Dredge to find her, when they’ve marked the houses and taken what they want, Drummer has headed back to camp with Photo, Twist and Runner sit out on the general store’s porch, Twist with her switchblade out, Runner jangling Burn’s dice in her hands.

“Hey, Boss.” Dredge’s voice is low, rough, friendly. “Reeks like a fuckin’ ashtray back here.”

Lucinda snorts and continues smoking.

“Look, Boss.” Dredge lowers herself to the ground next to Lucinda, picks her knees up and rests her forearms across them, dangles her hands out in front of herself. She looks off at the horizon. Lucinda follows her gaze. “We both got shit to say to each other, you to me and me to you, and I think what you wanna say you wanna say in front of everyone else, right?” She glances over. Lucinda nods. “And what I got to say to you I don’t think I wanna talk about here when you still got six corpses laying in the middle of the street, so I wanna say it back at camp. Doc’s gonna be worried about you because she always is, Birdy is gonna wanna know especially if Photo starts talking, and everyone else needs out of this fucking town.” Dredge pauses, picks at a hangnail. “The doors on the barn should hold for the day it’ll take of ‘em to move in. We aren’t needed here.”

“Still don’t like leaving before the job is all done,” Lucinda murmurs. Her raven croaks on the roof above her.

“They're all too scared to do anything, Boss, ain’t no reason to worry.”

Lucinda snorts, shakes her head, stubs out her cigarette.

“Let’s go. Get everyone together, get whatever you’re taking.”

“Got it, Boss.” Dredge nods, hauls herself to her feet, resettles El in her sling.


	8. Chapter 8

**CONTENT WARNING: None**

 

“So, shit, Boss, you said we’d talk back at camp.”

Dredge unhooks her baby sling, passes it over to Runner. She throws her arms out.

Behind her, the rest of the team circles up as well as they usually do--a scraggly line, Siri in the back next to Watch, Siri with her eyes down, trying not to take up space, Watch next to her, shoulders hunched but chest open and eyes up, watching. Photo and Twist off to the left, Photo huddled under Twist’s arm. Birdy next to then, bouncing her baby gently on her shoulder. Burn in the middle, legs stretched out and splayed so she can roll her die, one-fingered, across the dirt between her thighs, leave patterns with the pips. Runner settles next to her, watching Burn’s hands, gently bouncing El in her sling; Drummer next to Runner, folding and unfolding her scarf in her lap, studying Dredge’s bootheels. Tooth sits at the end, Twist’s switchblade in one hand and a chunk of wood in the other.

Lucinda settles onto the rock she chose as a chair, looks up at Dredge.

“You need to work on keeping your mouth shut about some things. I think you already know that. I don’t care if you run your mouth about deathclaws or yao guai or your husband in town, but I _do_ care if you run your mouth about me, the rest of the team, the Legion. Keep your mouth _shut_ when it comes to those things.” Lucinda presses her teeth together so her jaw twitches.

Dredge nods slowly.

“That your piece?” she asks, voice low.

Lucinda nods. Dredge tips her chin up, puts her hands on her hips, drops her voice softer.

“The hell you see in Birdy that you don’t see in the rest of us?” she asks. “I ain’t got a problem with the way you treat her--” Dredge half-turns, nods to Birdy, turns back to Lucinda, “--But I got a problem with the way you treat the rest of us.”

“You’re an adult, she’s not,” Lucinda replies.

Dredge snorts, turns her body without turning her head, points.

“Photo,” she says, sets her mouth. The rest of the team looks at any of the women--Siri turns to Photo, glaces at Lucinda, Twist watches Dredge’s shoulders, her arms, the way she doesn’t even twitch, her arm pointing steady. Drummer, Burn, Tooth all look to Lucinda, and Birdy watches Dredge for a moment before scooting back to sit next to Photo.

“Photo isn’t Birdy,” Lucinda replies, narrows her eyes.

“Shit, boss, I hadn’t noticed!” Dredge laughs, drops her arm and shoves her hands into her pockets. “Ain’t like I just spent a fuckin’ week with one of ‘em, helped talk the other through having a baby. I noticed they ain’t the same, Boss, but when you’re looking at Birdy you ain’t seeing our very own seventeen year old with a newborn.”

Lucinda’s jaw twitches again.

“You want her back on her first job?”

“Said I ain’t got a problem with _her_ ,” Dredge repeats. “You’re not answering my question. What’re you seeing when you look at her, makes her not one of the rest of us?”

Lucinda’s jaw twitches, but she doesn’t answer. Dredge leans back on one foot, crosses her arms over her chest. They stare each other down, jaws set, brows drawn down, 

“Alright, you ain't gonna answer.” Dredge drops her stance. “Just make sure you follow your own damn rules. Ain’t none of us are idiots, don’t think we ain’t gonna notice you treating some better’n others.” Dredge tips her head to one side, turns so she looks at Lucinda from the corner of one eye.

The rest of the team is silent.

Lucinda turns her head so she doesn’t look at them.

***

“Siri?”

Lucinda’s voice is soft, nearly lost in the cacophony of insects and the rising wind.

Siri rolls over in her blankets, squints up at Lucinda, who immediately settles next to her.

“Mmm?” Siri grunts, throws her arm out to reach for her bag.

“Not hurt,” Lucinda says, before Siri can sit up all the way, open her bag, start digging for whatever she thinks she needs. “Just want to--” She pauses, breathes in through her mouth, out through her nose. “Sit up with you, maybe.”

“You woke me up,” Siri grumbles, rolls over, presses her nose into her forearm for a moment. Lucinda watches her, digs into her hip pocket for her cigarettes, pats at her belt pouch for her matchbox.

“Sorry,” Lucinda whispers, scoots back as Siri unwraps herself, gives Siri room. She watches with wide eyes, cigarette between her teeth, blocks her match from the wind with her hands, squints as the match lights up her face from below.

“What did you want?” Siri asks again, tugs her blanket up over her shoulders, shivers. Scowls at Lucinda’s cigarette. Lucinda shakes out her match, cups her hands around her cigarette and hunches her shoulders, looks up at Siri with guilty eyes. “You really need to quit smoking.”

“Soon,” Lucinda agrees. “I just wanted to sit with you for a while.” She pauses for a long moment. “The stars are pretty tonight,” she offers.

Siri opens her mouth, gets half a vowel out before she stops, scowls, presses her lips tight together. Studies Lucinda’s face, her wide eyes, her twitching fingers, her questioning eyebrows.

“Sure,” Siri agrees.

Lucinda crawls upright, and Siri follows a moment later, lets Lucinda lead her out to a rise of rock that protects the camp from the worst of the wind.

SIri stays wrapped in her blanket, bundles it up around her neck to protect herself from the wind. Lucinda huddles into her knees, tries to block the wind that way. Her arms are still covered in goosebumps.

“Where is your coat?” Siri asks, bumps her elbow into Lucinda’s bicep.

“You sound like my mother,” Lucinda laughs, ducks her head. “It’s back by my sleeping bag.”

“Please don’t compare me to your mother,” Siri sighs.

“She was a lovely woman, I’ll have you know,” Lucinda replies, twists her cigarette between her fingers, studies the horizon. Pitches her voice like she’s telling a joke, but doesn’t turn her shoulders just so, doesn’t give Siri the knowing looks that always accompany her jokes,

Siri lets that hang for a long moment.

“What was she like, when you were young?” she finally asks, tries to dance around what happened to the woman. Has Lucinda ever mentioned what happened to her when the Legion absorbed them?

Lucinda is quiet a long moment, studies her cigarette more intently than is strictly necessary.

“She was a lot like Birdy,” she finally says, voice soft. “She was Watch’s age when I was born, but she was a lot like Birdy in every other way.” She replaces her cigarette, huddles tighter into herself, turns her eyes back to the horizon.

“You look cold,” Siri says, instead of a direct answer. She braces herself before extending one arm, offers part of her blanket.

Lucinda doesn’t say anything as she puts out her cigarette, scoots over, ducks under Siri’s arm, and wraps one arm behind Siri’s back. Siri drapes her arm over Lucinda’s shoulder, and they arrange the blanket until they have as much coverage as they can manage.

Lucinda extricates herself from the blanket before Dredge paces up to them, informs Lucinda her watch is up.

***

“We should be headed back to town today,” Lucinda says over breakfast. “Not… _that_ ,” she points back in the direction of the decimated town, fires in its fields still sending billowing plumes of smoke into the air, “but a Legion town.” She prods at the graying lump of meat on her tin plate, saws a chunk off with her fork. “We’re due for a payday.”

“Shit, Boss, we get paid?” Dredge asks.

“That’s my intent,” Lucinda agrees, nods grimaces at her plate before stabbing the chunk of meat with her fork and shoving the entire thing in her mouth at once.

“You think they’ll _actually_ pay?” Twist asks, huffs, stretches.

Lucinda swallows hard, flinches, coughs into the side of her wrist.

“I have heft,” she replies. “I have status. If I don’t have enough of either of those, I have other methods.”

“You gonna steal from the Legion bank?” Dredge asks. “You gonna stick up the treasury?”

Lucinda snorts and shakes her head.

“A little more subtle than that.”

“Where are we going?” Photo asks. She scoots closer, and Lucinda digs a wrinkled, hand-drawn map out of her pocket.

“Here,” Lucinda replies, points to a crayon mark without a label next to it. “It should only be a few days travel.”

“A long few days,” Photo murmurs, quietly, takes the map. She presses one finger to the crayon mark, traces another across the map until she figures where they are, compares the two points.

“You’re all up for it, I think,” Lucinda replies. “Especially with a week and a half of nothing to do at the end of it.”

A ripple runs through the team, as they look at each other and then at Lucinda.

“Week and a half rest?” Tooth asks. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Lucinda agrees. “Along with travel time, it’ll be a little over two weeks, i think.”

“When do we leave?’ Burn asks, shifts so she can stand faster.

“As soon as you’re all done eating and we’re all packed,” Lucinda replies, tosses her plate aside and stands. “Who’s on dishes this morning?”

“Me,” Drummer offers, scrambles to her knees to collect plates as people offer them to her. 

Lucinda nods.

“We’ll be headed out just as soon as you’re done.”


	9. Chapter 9

**CONTENT WARNING: None**

 

“This will be your supply depot, your quarters will be that building over there,” the recruit drones. He points to a shabby brick building. Pre-war brick, not the safer adobe of the post-war years. “It’s yours, permanently.”

“Thank you,” Lucinda agrees, waves the women toward their new lodgings, follows behind, her bird swooping down onto her arm and cutting the motion short. “You ten settle into our lodgings,” she wrinkles her nose at them, keeps her voice neutral so the recruit behind her won’t see her distaste, “and I’ll go talk with this priestess.”

Twist nods, waves the others along ahead of herself.

“Siri, you come with me. Doctoring is close enough to magic.”

Siri snorts, but steps back to Lucinda’s side.

“We’ll be back in an hour or so, hopefully.”

“I’ll keep Watch up for you,” Twist agrees. Lucinda nods.

The recruit points them to a low adobe building, a flag hanging on the wall and a fire out front. The door is a sheet of corrugated steel wedged in the doorframe.

Lucinda knocks, tosses her arm into the air so her bird flaps up onto the roof. The bird croaks at her, and she makes a noise back.

“Come in,” a woman calls, voice rough and low in her throat. Lucinda hauls the sheet of metal aside, steps into the low, dark room. There’s a fission-battery lamp on a table at the other end, the sound of movement in another room, the rustle of clothing and the clack of dishes and the wheezy breathing of blocked airways. Just the sound of it makes SIri rub at her chest.

“It’s Lucia, ma’am, and her doctor,” Lucinda offers.

“Oh, I know who you are,” the woman replies. She’s still puttering around the other room. “I’ve heard the stories of you and your victories.”

“No deaths in our first victory,” Lucinda says, straightens her spine and inclines her chin.

“An impressive feat,” the priestess agrees, and her footsteps come toward the dark doorway. She steps into the light, and she’s not impressive--’dumpy,’ Siri thinks, with a bottom-heavy face and plain graying hair pulled back. Wearing the same cobbled-together outfits all the other non-slave women do.

Lucinda’s mouth opens, though, and her eyes go wide. She makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat, so soft Siri can barely hear it, even standing so close.

“You sound just like your mother did at your age, Raven,” the priestess says, grin spreading across her face. “Look just like her too. If I hadn’t seen her dead myself, I’d say she was standing here in front of me, working for the Legion.”

Lucinda throws herself across the room, wraps her arms around the old woman. The old woman obliges, hugs Lucinda's waist, leans back and lifts her feet from the ground. She laughs, and Siri can’t tell which of them makes the soft noise in the back of her throat.

“I didn’t think you'd live,” Lucinda murmurs. “I thought they would--like they did to--”

“Old woman who knows the changing of the seasons?” the priestess laughs again, sets Lucinda back on her feet. “Old woman who’s seen enough births and deaths she knows the score? Old woman who keeps her mouth shut? The Legion has a place for a woman like that.”

“I thought I was the last one,” Lucinda whispers, so soft that SIri can barely hear that, too.

“Oh no, Little Bird,” the priestess responds, runs her hand over Lucinda’s braid, tugs on it, grins wide. “There are always more of us. We can catch up on your business later, though, you and I. Just as soon as I’ve met this lovely young woman you’ve brought with you?”

“Siri, ma’am,” Siri replies, tucks her chin into her chest and folds her hands in front of herself.

“A beautiful name for a lovely woman,” the priestess response, grins wider. She’s missing teeth, though it's not clear if they rotted or were knocked out, it could be either. “Our Raven picks her women well.”

“I--thank you.” She’s not sure how to respond--this woman _knows_ Lucinda, or did at one time, at least. They talk like they haven’t seen each other in years, so--Dog Town? Before? Has to be before, or she would call Lucinda by one of the light names--Lucinda, Lucy, Lucia.

“And who are you, in her contubernium?”

“I’m the doctor. I never finished my medical training, but I know first aid, and many of the tribal remedies, and--” she presses her hand to the spine of her latest textbook, slung in her bag. “And I’m learning more.”

“And do you have a bird?” the priestess asks.

“No, ma’am,” Siri responds.

“How long have you known--” the priestess pauses for a moment, considers Lucinda. “What name do you use for her?”

“She’s only known me as Lucinda,” Lucinda interjects. She leans on the priestess again, wraps her arms around her and presses her nose into the woman’s shoulder, breathes deep. The old woman pats her back, between her shoulder blades. “She calls me Lucy.”

“How long have you known Lucy, then?” the priestess asks, grinning.

“A year, now,” Siri replies. “We--we met at the Fort. I was serving as the doctor, and she came through on assignment. We spent some time together and got to be--friends.”

“She saved my life,” Lucinda clarifies, lets go of her hug, bends over to tug her pants leg higher and slide her gaiters lower, to show off the scar that covers her entire left shin. “I stepped on a bear trap, it went septic. She stabilized it and saved me from dying of gangrene.”

“You did, did you?” the priestess asks, looks to Siri, raises her eyebrows. Looks fascinated, almost congratulatory. 

“I did,” Siri agrees. “I was doing my job,” she tries to clarify, because she’s _seen_ the look on the priestess's face before, remembers her own aunt making that face as she considered husbands for her daughters, for Siri, for the other children in her generation--the hazards of being related to the matchmaker. “I would do it for anybody.”

“Good,” the priestess responds. “The world needs more women like you, more doctors, more women with real training.” She extricates herself from Lucinda’s arms, strides over to Siri. She holds out one hand, and Siri carefully takes it. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Siri. Lucinda knows me as Owl-Eagle, and that’s a good enough name.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, Owl-Eagle.”

Owl-Eagle laughs.

“Has she taught you about the birds yet?”

“No, ma’am. She’s told me a few things, but she’s never explained in depth.”

“You not trust her?” Owl-Eagle asks Lucinda, who stands with her hands on her hips. Owl-Eagle hasn’t let go of Siri’s hand, and Siri drinks the contact in. Owl-Eagle’s hands are warm, dry, broad, the sort of hands her father had. _Making hands_ , her grandmother would have called them.

“There hasn’t been time,” Lucinda replies. “In between the surviving being shot in the head and the bear trap and the babysitter they assigned me, and now with this job, I haven’t had time.”

“All you have right now is time, girl,” Owl-Eagle responds. “You take your girl home and you tell her about the birds.”

“She’s not _my girl_ ,” Lucinda replies. Scowls.

“We’re not--together,” Siri adds. She pulls her hands away, holds them up at her shoulders like she’s surrendering. “We’re friends but we’re not--”

“Not involved,” Lucinda agrees. “Just friends.”

“Just friends, hm?” Owl-Eagle asks. “‘Just friends’ like Old Raven and your mother, or ‘just friends’ like our dear old Vultures were?”

“Like my mother and Old Raven,” Lucinda replies, scowls.

Owl-Eagle laughs.

“If you say so, Raven. Why don’t you go see to your…” she trails off, scrunches her face up. “Team,” she finally says, nods, “And I’ll talk with Siri here for a bit.”

“Of course.” Lucinda nods. “There are a few of them you’d like to meet, I think. Dredge is an Eagle, no questions. Birdy’s another Raven. And we have a fifteen year old, goes by Photo because she found a camera and some film and likes to take pictures of us, she’s a Pigeon.”

“A Pigeon.” Owl-Eagle nods approvingly. “Not so many of those, especially not now.” Owl-Eagle steps back, away from Siri, away from the door. “And what is Siri?” she asks, looking between Lucinda and Siri.

Lucinda considers, for a moment, glances at Siri before looking everywhere else.

“Owl,” she finally says. “She doesn’t know the sky and the ground and the way people are, not the way Runner does, but she does know how to fix a person, knows how all the parts fit together to make a whole person. Knows how to read people, too.” Lucinda pauses again, presses her lips tight. “A quiet Mockingbird, maybe. Not a loud one.”

“I'll keep that in mind. Now shoo. We have things to discuss _without_ a Raven around to listen in on us.”

Lucinda grins, laughs, throws herself into Owl-Eagles arms again. She says something--and Siri hears bastard Spanish, bastard English, bastard Chinese, blended together, hears no words she can quite decipher--and Owl-Eagle says something back in the same language.

“Now go,” Owl-Eagle tells her, pushes her toward the door. “And I expect to meet your bird very soon, Raven. You bring her around and let me tell her embarrassing stories about you.”

“I will,” Lucinda agrees. “She’s just right outside.”

“No, no, you go settle into your house. I’ll meet her tomorrow.” Owl-Eagle waves at the door again, and Lucinda looks back at her, grins as she moves the sheet of metal back over the door. 

Siri wraps her arms around her stomach.

“How do you feel about tea?” Owl-Eagle asks.

“It’s been a long time,” Siri responds.

“Oh, I would imagine.” Owl-Eagle waves her along, into the dim room in the back. She lights a lamp with a match, shakes it out, deposits it in an overflowing ashtray. “How long since the Legion took your town?”

“Three and a half years. How did you know I was from--”

“‘Tribal remedies.’ A girl who learned them growing up might call them ‘old remedies’ or ‘old ways’ or just ‘the things my grandmother taught me.’ Someone from a town calls them tribal.” Owl-Eagle dumps water into two mugs, arranges them on a hot plate. “I’m impressed that you willingly took to them. A lot of the town girls I know refused, because they thought a town would have better medicine.”

“They don’t, most of the time,” Siri agrees.

“I’m glad you’re not too proud to see that. Here, why don’t you sit down.” Owl-Eagle points to a rickety folding chair. “I have a few questions for you.”

“It’s been a long time since anyone asked me questions, too.” She folds her hands in her lap, digs the heels of her hands into the canvas of her pants. They’re gritty--everything is gritty, what she wouldn’t give for a washing day and a clothesline--but it’s grounding.

“They're easy questions,” Owl-Eagle laughs. “How do you like your tea?”

“Weak,” Siri admits. Owl-Eagle laughs.

“That wasn’t one of my questions, sorry.” She passes the mug over to Siri, and something that looks like a homemade teabag. She settles onto the bare mattress with her own mug and teabag. “My real questions are harder than that.”

“I never went to medical school, mind you,” Siri replies, smiles into her mug. Can she joke here? Is that allowed? Owl-Eagle laughs, a big, wide sound.

“No medical questions, I assume you know what you’re doing. How is--Lucy? How is she doing? As her friend, not her doctor.”

“She--” Siri looks away. “She’s certainly done better, but she’s doing alright now.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear it. And you? How are you doing?”

“Better than I have in years.”

“And why is that?” Owl-Eagle folds her legs up under her, sits cross-legged at the edge of the bed. She sips her mug.

“What do you mean?” Siri shoots back. Tucks her shoulders in, collapses herself small.

“Why are you better? Is it because you have a girl? is it because there aren’t men hurting you? Do you enjoy your work?”

Siri is quiet, stares into her tea.

“Lucinda cares,” she finally says, mostly into her mug. “She--she was with Birdy the whole time she was giving birth, sat with Dredge the same. She puts us over a flawless mission. I’ve seen her do--do what the Legion asked her to, I suppose, but us, the contubernium she was given.” Siri drinks from her mug, gathers the words. “She cares.”

“Are you two together?” Owl-Eagle’s eyes are flat, her face blank.

“No,” Siri replies. “We're not. There’s--we--I--” she gives up and drinks again, focusing on the cabinet full of things beside the bed. She tries to sort the words around in her head. “I wouldn't be opposed, please don't share that, but we--no.”

“I understand.” Owl-Eagle nods. “How long do you plan on staying with her?”

“I don’t know.”

Owl-Eagle laughs again. “There are some things you should learn, if you’ll stick with her long enough for her to really consider your team a tribe, and if you’ll take the title she’s decided on for you.” She stands and goes to her cupboard, pulls out a sad, once-waterlogged book. There’s a stain across the cover, faded but visible. “Read this. Learn to sing them, she knows the tunes. You take your name and you get yourself a bird, we can talk about the other book I might have for you.”

“I--I couldn’t possibly--”

“Take it, Siri. I’d rather it not sit here and mold away like the rest of the books I saved.”

“I--” Owl-Eagle presses the book into her hands. The title is too faded and the cover too warped to read.

“Please,” Owl-Eagle whispers. “The tribe was built by women like you, and that’s the only reason it’s lasted this long. We’re dead, now. All of us who knew. We’re dead, or we’re dying.”  
Siri stares at the book for a long moment.

“I couldn’t,” she finally repeats. “I’m just a sla--”

“Don’t you say you’re _just a slave_ , girl. Slaves changed the world, and they will again, and you’re more than that.” Owl-Eagle inclines her chin. “If you won’t take it, at least give it to Lucinda. She’ll keep it.”

“I'll do that.” Siri can feel herself collapsing in. She doesn’t know this woman, as much as Lucinda trusts her, and if she was part of Lucinda’s tribe, Lucinda hasn’t seen her in at least over a decade. She could have changed.

“Thank you,” Owl-Eagle says softly, deposits the book in Siri’s hands. “Now, finish your tea, and then go home and sleep.”

“Thank you,” Siri says, and swallows the last of her tea.

***

Watch is standing just inside the doorway, leaning against the wall as she watches the barrel fire and the front sidewalk.

“Boss is still awake. Back room. Used to be a kitchen, I think.”

“Thank you, Watch.” Siri nods. Watch had a runny nose when they started their trip here, but it’s cleared up since then. A cold, probably, jumped to Tooth a couple days back.

“Sure thing, Doc. Hey, Doc, you think you could get me a chair? Legs are gettin’ tired.”

“Of course.” Siri nods and steps around the fire barrel, heads toward the back room. There’s lamplight, and the quiet sounds of someone awake but not moving much. Cloth on cloth, a sigh, the click of plastic on a tabletop. The sound of shaking feathers.

There’s a mattress on the floor, between the undoored refrigerator and the rusted-shut oven. The table is leaned against the back door, and two chairs sit, stacked, against the wall.

“Hey, Siri,” Lucinda murmurs. She’s settled into the corner by the stove, on the mattress, legs crossed,arranged with a clear view of the door, invisible until you step into the room. Her gun is disassembled in front of her, also on the mattress, and her bird is settled in her hood nest.

“Watch wants a chair,” Siri says, grabs a chair, hauls it back down the hallway without waiting for an answer. She can already feels the tension unwinding from her chest, now that she’s back here, surrounded by the contubernium. In the main room, just off the hall, Someone shuffles, and Photo and Birdy giggle. Drummer hushes them, and Dredge mutters something that might be admonishment, to someone whose name Siri doesn’t catch.

Watch arranges the chair and the fire barrel to her preferences, nods as Siri takes her leave, back to the kitchen.

“Sorry I don’t have an extra mattress for you here,” Lucinda says, as Siri drags the other chair over and settles into it. Lucinda is putting her gun back together. “There might be one upstairs, but I’m not going up there. Dredge said the whole floor gives like the marsh up around the High CIty in Colorado.”

“That’s alright,” Siri replies, scoots her chair in, away from the doorway, so Watch can’t see her anymore. “I can sleep on the floor.”

Lucinda snorts.

“I’m not letting our doctor sleep on the _floor_. You can take the mattress.”

“No, no, I’ll sleep on it tomorrow night. Owl-Eagle wants to speak with you tomorrow, and you should get a good night's rest.”

Lucinda snorts again, harder.

“She changed my diapers, she’s seen me worse than a little sleep deprived.” Lucinda finishes reassembling her gun, reloads the magazine, _click click click click click click click click_ , cycle the action with a louder click, sets it across her lap. “When does she want to see me?”

“I think it’s just whenever you have the chance.”

“No other instructions?” Lucinda looks up at Siri, then. She has--Siri’s mother called them “raccoon eyes,” thought Siri’s not certain what a raccoon even _is_ , or why their eyes are special--Lucinda has pale patches around her eyes, where her sunglasses sit. It’s cute.

“She--she tried to give me a book, but it’s really not my place to carry it, so she said to give it to you.”

‘What book?” Lucinda perks up, straightens her back, unfolds herself as she slides her gun into its scabbard. She watches as Siri pulls the book from her bag, reaches for it as Siri holds it out.

She runs her hand over the warped cover, her fingers soft. The spine crackles as Lucinda opens it, and Siri can see that the inside is in as bad of shape as the outside--cardboard showing through at the cover joint; half a flyleaf missing, torn out, scribbles in pen and pencil, splatters of paint over what's left; ugly brown-black-green stains over the pages. Lucinda flips through, fingers careful on the edges of the stiff pages, until she finally settles it open.

“She gave this to you,” Lucinda says, her voice soft.

“What is it?” Siri asks, leans forward.

“It’s--a songbook. Owl-Eagle taught me a lot of them when I was growing up. It wasn’t tribe, really. Not the whole tribe, not the way the birds were. But it was _us_ , ours. Our band’s.” She presses her fingers into the page, hums a tune Siri recognizes. “Here, come look at this one.” Lucinda waves her down, pats the mattress next to herself, points at a page numbered 61. Siri settles in. “You know this one,” she says, “I sang it to Melody, and I’ve sung it a couple other times.” Lucinda leans in, bumps her elbow into Siri’s ribs. “Here, I”ll…” she pauses, ducks her head. “I’ll try to sing it.”

Lucinda’s voice shakes, as she starts in on the words. She traces under them, as she goes, narrows her eyes and furrows her brow. She’s not a very good singer, really, but she can carry a tune, even if it’s a little flat.

“ _Sweet rivers of redeeming love lie just before my eyes,  
Had I the pinions of a dove, I’d to those rivers fly_.” 

Her finger halts, but she continues singing. 

“ _I’d rise superior to my pain, with joy outstrip the wind,  
I’d cross the Grande’s long-sought waves and leave this war behind_.”

Siri can read well enough, fast enough, to know that last bit isn’t what’s written in the book, even under the mold and the water stain.

“Sorry, I’m not--” Lucinda laughs, leans into Siri’s shoulder. “I’m really not a singer.”

“You sounded lovely,” Siri replies. She’s certainly heard _worse_ , Dredge’s attempts at marching songs being at the top of that list.

Lucinda laughs.

“You don't have to protect my ego,” she replies, closes the songbook. She slowly wraps one arm around Siri’s back, stretches her legs out so her sock-foot heels rest on the peely linoleum.

“You sounded good. I mean it,” Siri repeats. She rests her arm around Lucinda’s shoulder, scoots closer now that their arms aren’t in the way.

“We could both squeeze onto this mattress,” Lucinda murmurs. Turns her head, stops just short of pressing her cheek into Siri’s shoulder. “No one would care.”

Siri still stops, listens until she hears Watch’s chair creak, hears her cough, hears more wood clatter into the bottom of the barrel. Waits until she hears Dredge snore and Drummer’s wheezy nighttime breathing.

“Are you propositioning me?” she asks, low and soft, smiles.

“I’m suggesting you sleep here tonight, yeah,” Lucinda agrees. “Not anything more than that though.” She tightens her arm around Siri. “You saw what Owl-Eagle’s like, she doesn't need any more fodder.”

Siri snorts and Lucinda giggles, and that turns into a snort too. They lean together, cover their mouths with their hands; Lucinda leans hard and sends Siri toppling.

They both lay still for a moment, back-to-chest, holding their breaths.

“Is this alright?” Lucinda asks, after a long, silent moment, breath warm on the back of Siri’s neck.

“Move your arm,” Siri replies, arches her body so Lucinda can yank her arm out from under Siri, tuck it to her chest. “That’s alright, now.”

“Okay,” Lucinda’s voice is soft again. They’re quiet, just the sound of the fire and the occasional rustle of feathers and the in-in-out-out of breathing. Lucinda giggles, after a long silent minute. “Who gets pushed off in the night?”

“An aureus it’s me,” Siri snorts.

“Five denarii it’s me,” Lucinda replies. “Restless sleeper.”

“I’ll kick you out of you try to push me out of bed,” Siri replies, rolls over and inches down the mattress so they’re face to face, instead of chest to face.

“Can I lower my wager?” Lucinda asks. “I don’t like my odds.”

“You already made your bet,” Siri replies. “No take-backsies.”

“The fuck are take-backsies,” Lucinda laughs. “Fuckin’ townies and your weirdass words.”

“Like you’re any better,” Siri grumbles.

“Always am,” Lucinda bites back with a grin.


	10. Chapter 10

**CONTENT WARNING: Violence, blood**

 

“Owl-Eagle? I’ve--I’ve brought my bird.”

“Come in, Raven. Bring her to me.” Owl-Eagle waddles out of her back room, and Lucinda offers the bird on her arm.

Lucinda tilts her chin up, and her bird puffs up, flaps her wings.

Owl-Eagle clicks her tongue, bends at the waist to study Lucinda’s raven.

“Very pretty,” she murmurs, straightens up.

“After my, ah, accident,” Lucinda kicks her leg up a bit before settling again. “I went and got her off the top of a water tower.” The bird flaps up on Lucinda’s shoulder.

“How long after?” Owl-Eagle asks, crosses her arms, lets her eyes droop closed, smiles.

“Still had the cast on,” Lucinda replies, ducks her head, laughs.

“And who gave you the idea to climb a water tower in a cast?” Owl-Eagle asks. 

“Had a couple questionable role models when I was a kid,” Lucinda replies, turns to look at Owl-Eagle out of the corner of her eye, reaches up to scratch at her bird’s beak.

Owl-Eagle laughs.

“You certainly take after a few of our more _questionable role models_ if you’re disobeying your Owl to go find a bird.”

“Did she tell you about it?” Lucinda asks, turns to look at Owl-Eagle full-on again.

“We talked about medicine, she knows what she’s doing, and anyone who knows what they’re doing and swears by the ‘do no harm’ promise isn’t going to tell you to climb a water tower to get a bird for a tribal tradition.” She drops her arms, digs into her pocket, pulls out a cigarette. Lights it with a click of her lighter. “Girl respects tribe, but she’s not part of it the way some of us are.”

Lucinda nods.

“And no one’s hassled you about the bird?”

“Not yet,” Lucinda agrees. “She’s only on my arm when I’m inside, and there are enough ravens around every camp and its crosses they don’t notice one more, and the team either doesn’t care, or they think it’s amazing, or--” the bird takes off from Lucinda's arm, swoops over to Owl-Eagle’s kitchen table, “--they think the whole tribe was magic, with the birds.”

“ _Is_ magic,” Owl-Eagle corrects. “We aren’t dead until we’re all dead.”

Lucinda nods, looks away, digs her hands into her pockets.

“I should go deal with some wages,” Lucinda finally says, as the silence stretches longer. “I don’t think they’ll pay me or the others without a fight, and I want to get it done today.”

“Go on, I’ll still be here.”

“You mind if I leave her here?” Lucinda asks, nods to her raven, who is systematically removing pencils from a chipped ceramic mug.

“That’s fine, I dealt with you ravens for years, it’ll be good to have one around again.” Owl-Eagle turns to watch the raven on the table, puts her hands on her hips as the bird watches her back, moves on to the bowl of clay beads, begins to drop them one-by-one onto the floor. When she finished with the beads, she hops to the shelf packages with boxes of food, starts trying to pry one open.

Lucinda laughs.

***

Someone found deck chairs, and arranged them outside the front of the house on the cracked pavement, around the campfire and roasting spit. Photo putters around, camera in hand, Watch stays in her chair up by the fire barrel in the entryway, and Lucinda is off arguing with some bureaucrat on the other side of camp. Once in awhile their voices raise, Lucinda shouting down his latest attempt to shut her up.

Siri settles into the chair next to the cracked steps. Keeps her back to the brick wall. She can feel the heat radiating off it, even this early in the day.

Her textbook creaks when she opens it, same as it always does. She carefully holds the next page in place as it tries to slide out from under her fingers, scowls down at it. The pages are yellowed enough the glare isn’t as bad as it could be, but it’s still awfully bright in the full sun.

Dredge has a blanket strung between her chair and Birdy’s, and their babies lie on another blanket underneath it, shielded from the sun while they nap.

Burn and Drummer bicker back and forth over how to cook molerat on a spit, while Runner actually cooks the damn thing. Burn sits back and watches, her feet tucked up onto her chair and her arms crossed over her chest. When the conversation around the fire picks up--Dredge and Runner end up sniping at each other, both of them tipped back nearly horizontal in their chairs, having to crane their necks to look at each other--Twist picks up her chair and moves around to the house side of the campfire, sets her chair next to Siri’s adjusts it until it's back at a comfortable angle, her back to the camp. She flips her switchblade out so she can dig under her fingernails with the point

Siri nods a greeting, and Twist nods back. She studies her fingernails.

“Your hair,” she says, after a long minute, when Dredge finally threatens to _stand up and prove it_ about her claims, to which Runner shoots back something about Dredge still bleeding all over fucking everything and they don't need more fucking blood. Dredge is laughing, loud and obnoxious. “You need help?” Twist asks. It doesn’t sound like a question, really, but it’s not a statement of fact either. Somewhere in between, meant as a question.

"I just don’t have the time,” Siri tries to explain, reaches up. Her hair is terrible, she knows it, but she really, _really_ hasn’t had the time to do anything with it. 

“Have time now,” Twist replies, flips her switchblade closed. “Keep reading. I’ll do it.” 

“Oh, you have to have better things to do than that, I’m just--” 

“Doc.” Twist stands up, puts her switchblade away. “You want braids, locks, twists?” 

“I like my afro,” Siri replies. She closed her textbook on her fingers. The edges of the pages are soft on her knuckles, the weight of the book on her lap reassuring. 

“Can do that.” Twist steps closer to Siri’s chair. “Move forward.” 

Siri scoots forward on her deck chair, dangles her lower legs off the end. Twist settles in behind her, legs bracketing Siri, her feet flat on the ground. 

***

“How are you?” Siri asks. Lucinda came back from her negotiations pissed as hell. Barricaded herself in the kitchen, behind a table. Threw something made of glass at the wall so it shattered.

Now she’s out by the fire, chewing a wad of tobacco. She’s glaring at some point off in the distance.

“Pissed,” Lucinda replies. Her raven flaps down off the roof, settles on Lucinda’s thigh. Lucinda digs out the string of cracked walnut shells and clattery beads, tosses it for her raven. The bird follows it, begins picking at it the same as always.

Siri grunts. She doesn't have anything else to say.

Lucinda grunts back, tucks her feet up against her butt, folds her arms over her stomach. She looks small like this. Fragile, small, underfed. Not enough for her job. Siri looks away.

“We’ll only be resupplied out of what they have extra. ‘You weren’t expected’ he told me. _Not expected_ my ass. We’ll do alright, with all us tribals, but it won’t be fun.”

“It’s already not fun,” Siri replies.

Lucinda snorts, but it’s something like a laugh.

“Done worse,” Lucinda replies. “This is easy living. A mattress? Two meals a day? Ammunition for my gun? Ten women who listen to my every command?” she pauses, glances over at Siri. “A pretty girl who’ll hold my hand,” she mutters quickly, quietly, so Siri almost doesn't hear it. “That’s easy living. Grew up with less, been traveling with less. Legion men are still awful-” and Siri’s on high alert, now; they’re close to the edge of camp, right along the patrol route for the night guards, and God knows where they are right now, could be close- “but everything else makes up for it.” She pauses, must catch Siri’s nerves, because she adds, “They're on the other end of camp. Only come this way twice a night. Leaves us open to attack, if someone decides to. Gets rid of us first. Reason we set our own guard.”

And that eases the twinge in her gut, at least momentarily. Their threats are external, at least.

“Were you flirting with me?” Siri asks, tries to make herself think about anything else.

“Coulda been,” Lucinda agrees, nods. Spits into the dirt on the other side of her chair, and Siri can see her grin as she turns.

“Well, if that’s how you’re going to play it, _boss_.”

“I’m _not_ flirting if you call me ‘boss.’ There’s a reason only you get to call me Lucy anymore.”

Siri tries to remember where everyone is, right now, who might be asleep, who might hear them flirting. Watch is off for the night, last seen sleeping wedged against Tooth. Drummer asleep across the doorway to the bedroom, Burn and Runner asleep next to her. Birdy and Photo together, Birdy half-sitting, Photo with her head on Birdy’s thigh. Dredge and Twist in the middle of the room, sprawling into each other. Breathing deep, sleeping hard.

“You should come sit over here,” Siri decides to say. Scooches over in her chair, raises her arm to offer a place to sit at her side. Lucinda huffs.

“Chewing, right now,” she replies.

“It’s bad for you, but I’ve accepted that you’re not going to stop. I’ll still let you sit with me.”

“More worried I’m gonna accidentally spit on your book,” Lucinda replies, but stands up shakes herself out. Smooths her coat down before she sheds it and folds it over the back of her deck chair. She steps around her bird--currently trying to work out the loose knots in the cord--and settles onto the edge of Siri’s deck chair. “You think it’ll hold both of us?”

“I imagine pre-war individuals weighed more than the two of us put together. We’re not particularly well fed.”

“Well, no,” Lucinda agrees, swings her legs up and around. Scoots back under Siri’s arm. The chair creaks some, but not badly. “But there are still two of us, as compared to the hypothetical one of them.” She bounces a little, makes it creak more by shifting her weight.

“If you keep doing that, it _really_ won’t hold both of us.”

“Fine,” Lucinda huffs, presses herself into Siri’s side. She reeks like tobacco, cigarette smoke. Leather. Sweat, dogs, the mesquite smoke from the bighorner they had for supper. She smells like she needs a bath. Siri supposes she doesn’t smell any more pleasant. They could all use showers.

She’s warm.

Siri tightens her arm around Lucinda's shoulders.

They’re both quiet for a long minute, just breathing and the crackle of the coals and the occasional _crack_ or _pop_ or slippery noise from Lucinda's bird. Lucinda keeps chewing.

“You really should quit with the tobacco,” Siri finally murmurs. Lucinda laughs.

“I know,” she agrees. “But it’s my one vice. A girl has to have something to fall back on.” Siri tries to ignore the twist up her spine, the thought _not your only vice_ , and laughs too. “Still. Take up junk food, maybe, or knitting. Both.”

“I hate knitting,” Lucinda grumbles. She twists under Siri’s arm, so she’s on her side, her ear pressed to Siri’s bicep, her knees against Siri’s thigh. “Knitting is for old ladies who don’t want to travel anymore.”

“Did your tribe even have knitting?”

“One of our Vultures was good at it. Not-- _ours_ ours, but one of the whole tribe. She would knit people sweaters as they outgrew or shredded their old ones. She was old even before the war, wouldn’t let any of us forget that she had more than two centuries on any of us, even the ones we thought were older than anything.”

“She was a--” and everyone has different words for them, don’t they? The burned people, ghouls, what have you. Heard stories from the west, from the new slaves, about “marked men.”

“Yeah. Never learned how she turned into one of the burned, but she was.” Lucy moves a little, settles her weight differently on her hip. “Todl me I looked like her daughter did at my age. Told that to every seven year old girl, though, even the whiteblond ones and the dark skinned ones.” Lucinda laughs, rolls over, spits. Laughs again. “We all believed her.”

“Was any of it true?” Siri asks.

“Well, she was old. That much was true. None of us could figure which of us looked like her, with the peeled skin and radiation burns and all. We’d fight over it, the way kids do. Nothing at stake, but you always fight when you have something to fight over.” Lucinda rolls back over, looks up at Siri. “What about you? You have a knitter in your town?”

“My grandmother, in between her bouts of matchmaking.” She fights to not roll her eyes.

“She sounds like a grandmother out of a book.” Lucinda’s laughing, the deep, wheezy one that shows the toll of the cigarettes.

“Oh, she was,” Siri agrees. “Someone would show up on her doorstep and she would feed them and tell them who they should marry. Give them a scarf, send them on their way.”

“One-woman welcome committee.”

“She and--” What does she call the priestess just across the street? “Owl-Eagle” still seems too personal, but…”Owl-Eagle would get along.”

“Like a house on fire,” Lucinda agrees. She rolls onto her back, scoots closer again. “What are you reading about now?”

“Bone fractures.”

“Thought you knew all about bone fractures.” Lucinda bumps her calf into Siri’s leg. Her pants are riding up, and her socks slipping down, showing off the slick scar tissue over her entire shin.

“I thought I did too, but there’s always more to learn.”

Lucinda _hmph_ s, leaves it at that.

***

“Excuse me, miss priestess?” Dredge stands just outside the door to the adobe hut. Wrings her hands in the hem of her shirt. “I got something to talk to you about.”

“Come on in,” the priestess calls. Dredge muscles the door aside, steps into the hut. “What can I do for you?” the priestess asks, bustles around a corner from the back room.

“You know the boss, right?”

“Lucia? yes, quite well.”

“Well, uh, where you know her from?”

“From before we were Legion.” The priestess narrows her eyes, stops her bustling to fix her gaze on Dredge. “Why?”

‘Well I just wanted to, uh--you know her’n the doc, right?”

“What about them?”

“Well, they know each other real well, if you catch my drift, ma’am.”

“‘Real well’?” The priestess asks. “How ‘real well’?”

“Well I seen ‘em sittin’--” Dredge meshes her fingers together, works her palms in and out without moving her fingers. “together together.”

“Did they know you saw them?”

“Nah, nah, I was gettin’ up to piss, because they were out on watch, let Watch have the night off--she’s one of the Legion girls. Real sharp eye though. Killed someone to get here. But the boss gave her the night off, said she was gonna stay up and keep watch. Doc stayed up with her, readin’. Looked out the window and I saw em all over each other. Still dressed and all, they ain’t that love-stupid, but they’re--together. They gotta be.”

“Thank you for the information, miss.” The priestess grins, big and feral, gleam in her eye like the old ladies of the tribe had too, when they saw a couple young people together. “Now what’s your name?”

“Dredge, ma’am, just had a baby. Came outta Wyoming.” She pauses for a moment, shuffles her feet in the dust. “Knew your tribe, back before I ’s Legion. Had some of you come through a couple times a year, always thought you were all witches, with the birds.” She laughs. “Still ain't convinced, I seen the boss with that big ol’ raven of hers. Treats that bird better’n she treats most people.”

“Oh?” the priestess asks. “Would you mind sitting down? I certainly have the time to talk.”

“I, uh , sure, ma’am.” Dredge reaches for the closest chair, settles into it.

“They’ve been telling me they _aren’t_ ***

“Oy, boss.” Twist leans on the back of her chair.

“Yeah?” Lucinda asks, looks up from her inventory.

“Wanna talk.”

“So talk.” Lucinda takes off her sunglasses, squints up at Twist. Sits up, sets the inventory aside.

“Don’t like the way we do things.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Don’t like you either. Got a problem.”

Lucinda stands up. “How you wanna fix this?”

“Don't like _you_ ,” Twist repeats.

“Rather not fight you but if that’s what it takes I'll do it.”

Twist laughs, snorts. Smirks.

“Didn’t think you’d do it.”

“Fought tougher. If this'll make you feel better.” She half turns. “Drummer! Need you here.”

“Yes ma’am!” Drummer calls back.

“Now you pick someone to drag you off me when they think we've had enough.”

“Dredge,” Twist says.

“Hey Dredge!” Lucinda yells. “You too!”

“Ha ha,” Dredge yells back, and she and Drummer waltz over a moment later.

“Take anything metal off, this isn’t a deathmatch.” Lucinda kicks off her steel-toed boots, drops her coat and breastplate and sunglasses on top of them. She straightens her spine, raises her chin. Watches as Twist strips off her armor and boots too. Tosses her scarf onto one of the deck chairs. “Fight until they decide we’ve had enough. Stay inside the circle. Got it?”

“Got it,” Twist agrees. She shoves deck chairs out of the way. Lucinda shoves hers out of the way, too, tosses her boots and coat out of the circle and onto the sad dying grass. Drags a circle in the dust with her sock foot.

“You two got that?” She asks. “Dredge, you drag Twist off me, Drummer, you drag me off Twist.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Drummer agrees. Dredge is grinning ear to ear.

“You two really gonna duke it out? For real?” Dredge asks.

“Sure are,” Lucinda agrees. Finishes the circle off. There’s a big ashy spot near the center, where their fire was last night. Ashes are cool, though, so it shouldn’t be a problem.

“Holy shit.” Dredge laughs, big and loud. “Why?”

“Twist says she's got a problem with me. Tribe way of fixing it was fighting each other ‘til someone else pulled you off each other, if you couldn’t talk it out.” She glances over at Twist, who stands with her hands at her sides, shoulders deliberately loose. “Don’t think we can talk this one out.”

“Good method,” Drummer agrees.

“And you’d know?” Dredge asks.

“Seen enough fights,” Drummer replies. Frowns at Dredge.

“You Legion girls think you seen shit,” Dredge snorts.

“Oy,” Twist grunts, snaps her fingers at Drummer and Dredge.. Lucinda snorts, grins.

“Whenever you're ready, Dredge.”

“Go at it,” Dredge says. “Punch it out.”

Lucinda snorts, but it turns into a _whuff_ almost immediately as Twist tackles her to the ground. Twist lays one heavy punch across Lucinda’s cheek--her head jerks sideways, sick sound of bone on skin on skin on bone, grunts--before Lucinda gets her arms up, digs her fingernails into Twist’s arm. Twist sits across her stomach, heavy, solid, bearing Lucinda down. Lucinda tries to wriggle out from under her, resigns herself to having to fight her way upright. Grabs Twist’s arm, yanks her hand down, sinks her teeth into the meat of Twist’s palm. Twist yelps, pulls back enough that Lucinda lets go of her hand and slithers away, lurch-twists herself to hands and knees and then upright, gives herself just enough time to coil before she hurls herself at Twist, swings short and sharp and untelegraphed for Twist’s chin. Twist’s head jerks back, and she yelps again, Falls back as Lucinda throws her whole weight into it. she lands another blow on Twist’s jaw before Twist punches back, hits Lucinda in the mouth. She grunts as her teeth cut into her lip, spits blood.

Siri rounds the corner as Twist yanks her leg back, slams her foot into Lucinda’s stomach. She follows with another punch to Lucinda’s face, this time square on her nose.

“What are you doing?” Siri yells, sprints over as Lucinda jams her heels into Twist’s stomach.  
Drummer and Dredge immediately break; Dredge grabs Twist under the armpits, Drummer gets one arm around Lucy’s chest and fists the other in the collar of her shirt. Neither of them fight back, just pant and stare at each other with wide eyes.

“What are you doing?” Siri demands again, hands in fists at her sides, eyes wide. She looks back and forth between Twist--now standing on her own, Dredge with one hand on the middle of her back, between her shoulder blades--and Lucinda--still mostly sitting, her arms angled awkwardly over Drummer’s so she can pinch her nose, stop the blood. She spits again, away from Siri’s and Twist’s feet.

“Solving a dispute,” Lucinda garbles through the blood.

“Looks more like you were trying to get yourself killed,” Siri snaps. She turns to Twist, and, calmer, asks, “Twist, do you need any medical attention?”

“Nothing major, doc. Scrapes is all. And she bit me, but I won’t bleed out”

“Good. Get.” Siri points toward the back yard, where two babies are starting up a dual wail.

“Yes ma’am,” Twist agrees. Dredge follows her back.

“Lucy,” Siri says, voice flat and eyes expressionless.

“Don’t you ‘Lucy’ me when you’re pissed,” Lucinda replies, turns away to spit more blood. Drummer carefully lets go of her hold on her, follows Dredge and Twist back.

“I’ll call you what I damn well please,” Siri replies. “Now let me get a look before you bleed out.”

“Bloody nose, busted lip, bit my tongue,” Lucinda replies. Keeps her head tilted back but removes her hand from her face. She leans back on her hands, swallows thick and makes a face as Siri squats next to her.

“You’re going to have a nice shiner, too,” Siri murmurs, presses her fingers to Lucinda’s cheekbone with a grimace. Lucinda flinches away. “Lean forward before you drown in your own blood. What were you two disagreeing over?”

“She doesn't like me, doesn't like the way I do things. Offered to fight it out.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t break your nose,” Siri says under her breath. She turns Lucinda’s face in her hands. the skin around her eye is turning dark red already, starting to swell. “I’ll be right back, don’t move. I’m going to get some cool water for a washcloth for your eye, and some…” she trails off, grimaces again. “Rags, for the blood, I supposed. Try not to bleed on all your clothes.”

“I’ll try. Least there’s no laundry duty on the road.”

“Small mercies.” Siri stands up, trots back to the house to get her doctor’s bag. Lucinda stays leaning back on her hands, tries to think about things other than the blood trickling down her face.

Lucinda makes the mistake of glancing toward Owl-Eagle’s shack while she waits, sees Owl-Eagle standing in the doorway, grinning.

“You make a habit of bloody noses?” she calls across the street.

“No,” Lucinda tries to yell back, but it turns into a choking gasp as the blood interferes. Fucking. Fucking hit to the _nose_. Not sporting. Siri comes trotting back, faster, as she hears the coughing. Siri hands her a rag without a word, Lucinda tips herself forward further, presses the rag under her nose. Siri dumps some water on another washrag, folds it into a neat square--or as square as she can get it, with its frayed edges--and presses it carefully to Lucinda’s eye.

“You hold that there. Hold both of those there. Until the bleeding stops.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

“You should be able to move, if you think you can make it back to the house without depth perception.”

“I can do alright,” Lucinda agrees, and Siri stands up, offers her a hand. Lucinda shuffles the wet rag into her other hand, takes Siri’s hand it, lets Siri help haul her to her feet. “Thank you.”

“Try to keep this to a minimum in the future, alright, Lucy?” She puts her hands on Lucinda’s shoulders, holds her at arm's length, looks down at her. Lucinda looks up at her, nods, holds her gaze until Owl-Eagle hoots at them from where she’s still standing in her doorway. Lucinda breaks to turn to her, pull an ugly face, wrinkles her nose and shake her head until Owl-Eagle is grabbing her sides laughing.

***

“Shit, Boss, c’n you even see out of that eye?” Dredge laughs over dinner.

“No,” Lucinda replies. She pushes the potatoes around on her plate, scowls at them. Across the fire, Twist tries to hide a laugh, unsuccessfully.

“The swelling should be down by morning,” Siri says, cuts off any heckling before anyone can add anything not the conversation. “Please don’t resort to violence as a way to solve disputes in the future, the fewer injuries we have because of each other, the better we’ll do against anyone else.”

“Won’t do any better if they have guns,” Twist replies. Barely glances up from her plate, looks to Siri, not Lucinda.

“Please keep the infighting to a minimum,” Siri replies, sets her jaw, looks up to meet Twist’s gaze.

“Sure thing, Doc,” Twist murmurs, looks away.


	11. Chapter 11

**CONTENT WARNING: Violence**

 

“You're sticking awfully close,” Lucinda murmurs, tosses her head to indicate she’s speaking to Birdy. Birdy, five feet away, baby over her shoulder, doesn’t look at her.

“There aren’t a lot of other places to be,” she replies. “Unless I want to listen to Dredge retell the story about the yao guai in the woods, again.”

“That would be, what, three times?” Lucinda asks, tucks the whetstone into her pocket, digs out a piece of jerky. She bends her knees, presses the soles of her boots together, stretches without looking over to Birdy.

“Five, actually,” Birdy corrects her.

Lucinda hums out a laugh, taps her fingers against the sides of her boots’ soles.

“Who are you avoiding?” she asks, doesn’t look to Birdy, scans the men and boys and occasional slave on the main street. Evaluates each, tips her head to change angles. “Which one?”

Birdy makes a tiny noise, smothers it in her tongue.

“The blond one, there,” she finally says. The boy--he’s Watch’s age, at the oldest, more likely Birdy’s age within a year--tosses his head, throws blond hair back over his shoulder, laughs bright and loud. 

“Do you want me to fight him?” Lucinda asks, quiet. She picks up her knife off the ground, slides it into its thigh sheath. Birdy doesn’t miss the motion. 

Birdy breathes, slow, loud, pats her baby’s back.

“You don’t have to,” she finally says.

“Does he know you’re with me?” Lucinda asks, twists so her legs are underneath herself, stands, dusts herself off. “Has he seen you over here yet?”

“No, I saw him go by and I’ve been trying to stay with you or out of sight the rest of the time.” Birdy turns her head, continues bouncing her baby, presses her nose against her baby’s hairline.

“How bad do you want him hurt?” Lucinda asks, digs her hands into her pocket. Comes back out with another strip of jerky, chews quiet, her jaw working, her eyes blazing, hands twitching in her coat.

“What--” Birdy pauses, scowls toward the boy, looks between him, and Lucinda, and her baby. “What are my options?” she asks.

“I don’t think I can get away with killing him,” Lucinda replies, drops her chin, bares her teeth, studies him more intently. “But I can go right up to that point if you want me to.”

“Can you--could you maybe just--knock out some of his teeth? Humiliate him a little bit?”

“Is that all?” Lucinda asks, turns to look at Birdy. Keeps her mouth in a line, her eyes as blank as she can as she searches Birdy’s face. “It won’t come back on you. This won’t touch you, Birdy, I’ll make sure it won’t.”

Birdy looks away from Lucinda, swallows hard.

“No one will know I asked?” she asks.

“Well, the rest of the team might figure it out.” Lucinda tips her chin up, jerks her head at the rest of the team, gathered around the campfire. Dredge laughs and El sets up a wail. “But I won’t tell them, and they won’t talk, and no one else will know.”

Birdy nods, sets her mouth in a line.

“Hurt him as much as you want,” she says.

Lucinda grins, reaches over to press one hand against Birdy’s shoulder blade.

“Make him pay for what they've done to all of us,” she says, and Birdy rolls her shoulder into the contact.

“Yeah,” Birdy agrees, and even though her voice is quiet, there’s force to her words.

Lucinda drops her hand.

“Make them pay,” Birdy says, voice soft. “I’m--I should go, probably,” she says, turns her back on the boy.

“You go spend some time with Twist and Dredge and the Doc, I have some plans to set in motion.” Lucinda nods, turns to face Birdy. “If he comes over here and Twist and the rest can’t hold him off for some reason, you run to the priestess, alright? You go to her and you tell her I sent you.”

“Can do, ma’am,” Birdy agrees, nods.

“Now, you stay safe, and don’t let anyone else do anything stupid.”

“I’ll try,” Birdy laughs.

***

He’s strutting like a goddamn gamebird, shoulders back, chin up, laughing with his buddies in rapid-fire latin. He keeps looking at her chest, and then calling back to one of his buddies in a mangled patter that’s not Latin. All of his buddies hoot.

Her coat is pitched over the arena fence, her bird perched atop it, the team ringed around it to keep the men from touching her coat or her bird. Birdy stands boxed in by the others--Twist leaning heavy on the fence, Dredge next to her, Drummer, Runner, Burn ranged behind Birdy. Next to Twist, Siri and Watch flank Photo, who has her camera close to her chest, held low to avoid attracting attention.

This isn’t like with Twist, in socks and trying not to kill each other, trying to pull her punches because as pissed as Twist might be, she respects that, didn’t want to leave her incapacitated for a week, didn't want to knock her teeth out and make her swallow them, didn’t want to gouge her eyes out, grind her face into the dirt, not the way she wants to hurt this _boy_ who thinks he can own a girl by hurting her enough. Twist is good, Twist does her job, Twist recognizes _humans_ when she sees them, accords them that respect. This _boy_ thinks he can take whatever he wants and get away with it.

Also, Twist threw the first punch.

She drops low, hurls herself at him with her full bodyweight. He’s too busy showing off, strutting to his friends, winking at the handful of gathered slaves, who shift uncomfortably, look away, to see her coming in time.

She slams her shoulder into his stomach, takes him to the ground with a _whuff_ , slams her fist into his cheek, rolls with it when he throws his arms up to shove her off. She’s on her feet before he is, spins to slam her booted foot--and _god_ is she glad to have steel caps in the toes, now--into his side, send him gasping, sprawling, wailing.

“Get up,” she snarls, stands over him, just out of arm’s reach, shades him from the mid-morning sun, shifts her jaw, sticks out her chin. “Make it a fair fight, boy,” she growls.

“Fuck you,” he snaps, gets to his hands and knees. Lucinda watches, lets him get one foot underneath himself before she swings a kick into his hip, sends him rolling back again, groaning and whimpering.

Behind her, the slaves make soft noises, and footsteps retreat.

“You think you’re still the best here?” Lucinda asks, steps over him, settles on her knees over his stomach. He looks up at her, whimpers once, tries to wriggle away, tries to swing at her when that doesn’t work, but she settles her weight heavier, makes him wheeze, catches his fist and shoves it away. “You thought this would be easy because they didn’t fight back before, didn’t you?” Lucinda swings heavy for his face, and it connects. He wails, tries to hold his hands up to block her. Lucinda shoves them away, lands another hit. “Easier when they’re afraid of you.” Something cracks when she slams her fist into his nose, and he screams.

Lucinda stands, turns, curls her hands into fists at her side. She catches Birdy’s eye, twitches her head just enough to make the eye contact a question. Birdy chews on her bottom lip for a moment before she nods. Lucinda doesn't even nod back before she turns around and stomps on his shin, repeats until she feels the snap and he screams again.

Around the fence, the men and boys shift uncomfortably, pull away. A few in the back leave, and a handful of others look between each other and Lucinda as she circles around the boy on the ground, now curled into a ball. She slams another kick into his shoulder, feels something snap or twist or give under her boot, and his screaming turns into whimpers.

“Fuck you,” she snarls, turns her back.

The arena attendant hosp the fence, rolls the boy onto his back.

“I’m calling that for her,” he says, quietly. “And he’s not up to another round.”

Lucinda turns around, leans against the fence in front of Dredge. Her bird hops closer, croaks, hops away. A couple of the boy’s teammates hop the fence, help pick him up and hoist him over the fence, toward the infirmary.

“We gonna be safe?” Dredge asks, voice low. She tightens her hands around the dry, shattering wood of the fence.

“I’ll stay up on guard tonight, along with whoever else volunteers,” Lucinda replies. She rubs her palms across her thighs, shoves them in her pockets. “I also thought I would invite the priestess over to eat, have her work a little magic to keep them away.”

Dredge nods, but Lucinda doesn’t turn to look at her, just watches the men carry him away, watches slaves watch the men too, then turn away, lean into each other, giggle silently.

Good.

***

“Would you like to come eat with us?” Lucinda asks, leans in the doorway. Owl-Eagle has her feet propped up on her table, a book in her lap.

“What’s for dinner?” she asks, kicks her feet down off the table, closes her book. “And who’s cooking?”

“Birdy volunteered tonight, and it’s bighorner. We’ll be out in front of the house if you want to join.”

Owl-Eagle nods, stands, tosses her book on the table. She shakes herself out.

“I might just come with you right now, get to know the women you’ve brought together a bit before you all head out again.”

“We’re not leaving for a week still.” Lucinda snorts. “There’s plenty of time.”

“Seven days isn’t long, Raven,” Owl-Eagle replies. “Now, do you have any rules for what we talk about?”

“Don’t ask about anyone’s past unless they offer the information, and even then only do it fact for fact. Dredge wanted her baby, Birdy didn’t, Twist is NCR and wears it proud, Siri is from New Mexico somewhere, whole family’s gone, Burn, Drummer, Watch are all Legion born, Photo’s from some shitty little Arizona town, Birdy’s born tribal but doesn’t remember much, Runner, Tooth, and Dredge are tribal, Dredge knows us.”

“Where’s Dredge from? Knew she knows us, but which us?” Owl-Eagle asks.

“Wyoming, probably the other Little Raven’s band,” Lucinda replies, shakes her head. “She doesn’t support the Legion, but she knows her battles, and she’s followed pretty well up to this point.”

“You say that like there are some that haven’t,” Owl-Eagle observes, crosses her arms over her chest. Lucinda steps out of the adobe, and Owl-Eagle follows.

“Twist,” Lucinda replies, reaches up to press at her black eye. The edges are turning yellow-green, but the center around her eye is nearly black. “You saw. But the rest of them follow fine.”

“And you said Twist was NCR?”

“Was, yeah,” Lucinda agrees. “She’s been Legion three years now. Didn’t take to it, hasn't taken to it, won’t take to it.”

Owl-Eagle nods.

“And what’s she?” Owl-Eagle asks. “If Dredge is an Eagle, then Twist is…?”

“Loud Mockingbird, Eagle and Raven. Could go either way, depending on what you have her doing.”

“Like you?” Owl-Eagle asks, trails Lucinda toward the front yard. Most of the team is spread out around the firepit, Birdy and Drummer sitting close to watch the food, the rest sprawled in chairs. Watch climbed through a hole on the roof as is seated on the peak of the house, revolver in hand. She seems unbothered by the sway and give of the decaying top floor.

Lucinda shakes her head.

“Not an Eagle. Just a Raven.”

“You’ve never been _just_ one thing, girl,” Owl-Eagle snorts. “Once you settled into being a Raven we were going to put you to vote as a Mockingbird, next time we all met.”

“I’m flattered,” Lucinda replies, laughs. “Things have changed, though.” She pauses, casts a glance over the team. Most of them are talking to each other, ignoring her and Owl-Eagle, though Watch’s eyes dart over them before she goes back to watching the rest of the town. “If you could...not talk about the tribe and me, that would be good. Some of us don’t talk much about our pasts, and I don’t want--” She breathes out through her nose. “I don’t want to be too friendly. Too well-known. Friendly is alright, ‘best friends’ isn’t.”

“Dredge already thinks you and Siri are more than _best friends_ ,” Owl-Eagle laughs.

“I’ve told her to cut it out,” Lucinda sighs. 

“I’m inclined to agree with her,” Owl-Eagle prompts, nudge’s Lucinda’s bicep with her elbow, without removing her hands from her pockets. Lucinda glares at her and takes a half step away, out of elbowing range.

“You’re terrible,” Lucinda replies, sweeps forward to join the rest of the team. Owl-Eagle laughs as she follows after.

***

“Does she have a name?” Owl-Eagle asks, bounces Birdy’s baby on her shoulder.

Birdy shakes her head, rearranges the hem of her shirt.

Owl-Eagle hums.

“Are you going to name her?” she asks.

Birdy considers for a moment, glances over to Lucinda--who is focused on her plate, doesn’t look up unless the conversation mentions her by name--and then looks back at her baby.

“I think I will,” Birdy replies. “I--still haven’t decided.”

Owl-Eagle hums again and nods.

***

“Count me in.” Owl-Eagle settles in next to Burn in the circle of dice players. Burn nods, and Drummer scratches out a new betting square in the dirt.

Dredge and Twist stay back on their chairs, Dredge holding El and Twist holding Birdy’s baby, and Watch stays perched on the roof, but the others join in, circle around and bump shoulders and elbows, toss jokes and curses at each other, rapid-fire around the circle, even Lucinda gloating when the dice roll in her favor. Siri keeps quiet for the most part, wins one round, doesn’t boast, but grins wide.

Watch whistles down at them at 10:37, according to Tooth’s wristwatch.

“Got one sneaking around,” she says, nods to Lucinda. “Looks like one from his contubernium, not the leader, another recruit.”

“Got it,” Lucinda agrees, rolls to her feet and sweeps into the house, comes back with her gun. She sets it aside, easily within reach, and goes back to watching the dice roll without another word. No one else makes nay comment.

“Do you play dice games often?” Owl-Eagle asks, tallies up her latest win as Tooth and Runner groan at their losses

“Every couple nights,” Drummer agrees. “More, if we get bored, and have time, and there ain’t Legion fucks around to come after us.”

“I see you run a tight ship,” Owl-Eagle murmurs, raises one eyebrow to Lucinda, who shrugs.

“If it doesn’t interfere with the work, I don’t see a problem with it.”

“That’s because you win half the time!” Dredge half-yells from her chair. “I’d call you a cheater but when you lose, you lose _bad_.”

“Thanks for the input,” Lucinda snorts, rolls the dice as her turn comes.

“Any time, boss!” Dredge replies cheerily.

***

“Can you do something to keep them off us?” Lucinda asks, voice low. Most of the team has retreated back inside--Siri just inside the door, talking with Birdy, Dredge and Twist already bedded down in the room off the hallway, Drummer sits on the front porch, legs stretched out, rifle across her lap. Burn and Runner are in the room off the hall too, voices quiet, giggling occasionally. Photo paces, visible through the broken front window.

“I can try,” Owl-Eagle replies. “You go inside, I’ll work a little bit of magic.”

“Thank you.” Lucinda smiles. “Anything we can do to keep them off us a little longer, and have to shoot at fewer of them.”

“Glad to help.” Owl-Eagle steps around Lucinda, turns so her back is to the front door. “I know you’re sure you and Siri aren't together the way our dear old Vultures were, but I think it would do you good to think about it.” She reaches up, pats Lucinda’s left cheek. she reeks like cigarette smoke. “Especially if you’re planning on calling this a tribe.”

“Were you and Old Raven--” Lucinda pauses. “Nevermind. Don’t want to know.”

Owl-Eagle laughs.

“It’s not tradition, but it’s awfully common from what I understand.”

“I said I didn’t want to know.” Lucinda pulls a face.

“Just think about it, Raven,” Owl-Eagle agrees, nods, laughs again. “What does it lose you?”

Lucinda shakes her head, but ducks, glances at Siri past Owl-Eagle’s shoulder.

“You’re making eyes at her,” Owl-Eagle offers.

Lucinda levels a glare at her, and Owl-Eagle grins wide, shows off her missing teeth.

“Please just--do something that'll keep them of us for the night.”

“I’m on it. You turn in for the night.”

Lucinda shakes her head again. “I’m staying up with Drummer and Watch in case your magic doesn’t work. You know how men are.”

Owl-Eagle hums, steps out of Lucinda’s way. Lucinda trots up to the front door, waves Drummer and Siri the rest of the way inside.

“She’s doing some magic to keep them off us, but you’ll want to be ready for anything. You don’t break a man’s leg without some retribution.”

Siri nods, swallows hard. Photo nods, too, wide-eyed and _fascinated_ versus Siri’s afraid. Drummer nods too, readies her rifle at her side.

Outside, Owl-Eagle starts chanting something.

***

Drummer retired before Tooth’s watch ticks over to midnight, and once she settles down--Runner grumbles as Drummer wedges herself in between her and Burn--Siri materializes on the doorstep.

“Nothing yet?” she asks.

“No,” Lucinda agrees. “I’ll be up until two, then I’ll turn in. Tooth said she would take over for Watch at that point, so Watch could get some sleep. El will be up in a while anyway, which means Dredge and Birdy and Birdy’s baby will be up too.” Lucinda shifts the way she’s sitting, stretches her legs out more, rests the butt of her gun on the ground. “You’re welcome to sit up with me if you’d like.”

“Hm,” Siri agrees, stretches her legs out next to Lucinda’s. She leans back on her hands, cranes her neck to see past the sagging awning, study the stars--fading out, with the light of the lamps and torches, but still brighter than they were in the Fort.

They sit in silence for a moment, crickets chirping, cicadas sawing, a dog barks in the kennels and then half a dozen more start in, someone yells at them and all but one go quiet. The last yelps, then whines, and then goes silent too.

Lucinda inches her fingers across the splintering wood of the deck, and slides her fingers under Siri’s palm.

Siri squeezes her hand, says nothing.


	12. Chapter 12

**CONTENT WARNING: None**

 

“I’ll bet on a five,” Runner says, tosses in two caps. Burn shuffles them over onto the square of the board with a **5** written in it.

“What’s the pot?” Drummer asks.

“The bank? Bank’s twenty caps.”

Drummer tosses out three caps.

“On two,” she says

Burn nods, arranges the caps on the board, rolls the dice. They come up 1-6-5, and Burn scoops up Runner’s two caps and hands them back to her. She sweeps Drummer’s three caps into the coffee tin Watch found on top of the dead refrigerator, so they clatter together with the rest of the bank. She passes the can to Runner.

“I’m on three,” Burn says, drops four caps into Runner’s palm.

“One,” Drummer grumbles, passes over two caps.

Runner shakes out the dice, they land 3-3-3 this time, and Drummer groans and flops back onto the ground. Burn grins as Runner passes over twelve caps.

“You're totally cheating,” Drummer growls, hits Burn on the thigh with the back of her hand. “ _Totally_ ,” she repeats.

“Or you’re just really bad at it,” Runner suggests, tosses the dice so they land one by one on Drummer’s stomach. Drummer huffs, and the dice roll off, onto the ground.

“Nah, you have to be cheating,” Drummer disagrees, sits up, takes the coffee can as Runner hands it over.

“Three,” Runner says, passes over four caps.

“Two,” Burn says, passes three caps.

Drummer roll the dice out, grumbling under her breath the entire time. They roll 2-2-3, and she passes Runner four caps, and Burn six.

“Seriously, I’m not gonna keep playing with you two if you keep winning like this.” She passes the coffee can over to Burn.

“Bet on fives,” Burn suggests.

“Fine,” Drummer agrees, passes over her last six caps. “On five.”

“I’m on three,” Runner says, flips a single cap with her thumb. “I’m not betting against Burn anymore’n I have to.”

Burn shakes the dice in her hands, tosses them out.

They land 5-5-5.

“Said I wasn’t betting against her,” Runner says, sits back, holds her hands up. “Got too much of a head for numbers for me to ever wanna try to bet against her.”

“Eighteen caps, a nice haul.” Burn counts them out into Drummer’s palm.

“That’ll buy you a whole three bottles of water at some of the cheaper water stands around.” Runner scoots back, then flops forward onto her stomach, props her chin on her hands.

“Glad I don’t have to buy water,” Drummer grunts.

“Nothing like drinking out of contaminated streams,” Runner agrees. “Nothin’ else like it in the world.”

Burn snorts and passes the coffee can over.

***

“So who’s the prettiest?” Birdy asks. Her baby is outside, with Dredge and El, and she and Photo are laying on a pile of sleeping bags in the middle of the room.

“Prettiest of what?” Photo asks, rubs at the adhesive residue on her camera casing with one thumb.

“Prettiest on the team,” Birdy replies, grins wide at Photo’s startled jump. “I remember being fifteen.”

“Don’t say that like you’re so much older.” Photo wrinkles her nose, sneers. “You’re only seventeen.”

“Still older than you,” Birdy replies, prods Photo’s shoulder. “So, who’s prettiest?”

Photo sighs and flops back on the pile of sleeping bags.

“I think the boss is,” Photo finally says.

Birdy bursts out laughing, finally manages to muffle it behind her hand as Photo glares at her.

“ _The boss_ ,” Birdy squeaks. “But she--you--” and she bursts into giggles again.

Photo wallops Birdy with a folded up blanket in the approximate shape of a pillow.

“She’s pretty, okay? She looks just like those ladies off book covers.”

“What book covers?” Birdy asks, waves her arms to ward off any more hits from the folded blanket.

“Here, I’ll show you.” Photo scrambles across the floor, off her pile of sleeping bags--Birdy immediately takes her place, settles in with her legs crossed--and grabs her backpack. She digs for a moment before pulling out a tattered pre-war book, edges frayed and waterstained, binding taped back together.

Emblazoned across the front is a half-dressed woman, all breasts and legs, no stomach, no hips, tiny feet. Long black hair rolling over her shoulders, lips painted red. Her eyes are closed as she drapes across a desk--there’s a man in the background in a hat and a long coat who’s staring at the viewer, eyebrows drawn down, cigarette hanging from his lips.

“See?” Photo asks, points at the woman on the cover. “She looks like the boss.”

“Maybe if the boss starved herself and grew another six inches,” Birdy snorts. 

“I thought you wanted to know who I thought was pretty?” Photo grumbles, sets her book down on her side away from Birdy.

“I just can’t believe you think the Boss is prettiest.” Birdy pauses for a moment ,tucks her knees up to her chest, checks out the window. “She kinda scares me.”

“Me too,” Photo agrees.

Birdy laughs.

Photo grins down at her lap.

“Fact for fact, who do _you_ think is prettiest?”

“Ooh, turning it back around on me.” Birdy drops her knees, taps her chin, flops back on the sleeping bags again. Birdy hums. “I think maybe...Burn.”

“But she’s got that nose,” Photo mutters. “I mean, I guess she looks alright.”

“She’s got a really nice nose!” Birdy argues, swats Photo on the shoulder. “You say something nice about her right now.”

“You said the Boss wasn’t prettiest too!” Photo argues. “It’s the same thing!”

“No it’s not, I didn’t say the boss wasn’t _pretty_ I said she wasn’t _prettiest_.”

“Fine,” Photo groans. “I guess her nose is fine.”

“I guess that’ll have to do.” Birdy sighs, but she’s grinning.

Photo snorts, wrinkles her nose.

“Hey, pass your book back over here,” Birdy says, leans across Photo to reach of the book.

“Why?” Photo asks, leans to keep Birdy from getting to it.

“I wanna read it.”

“Can you even read? I thought you couldn’t read.”

“I can read!” Birdy replies, sits back to set her hands on her hips.

“I thought you told Runner you couldn’t read?”

“That’s what I _told_ her but that doesn’t mean it’s _true_ ,” Birdy points out.

Photo looks her over for a moment, narrows her eyes, and a grin creeps across her face.

“You totally can’t read,” she giggles.

“Yes I can!” Birdy argues, throws herself across Photo to get the book. “I can read so well! I bet I can read better than you!”

“Birdy can't read! Birdy can’t read!” Photo singsongs, but lets Birdy have the book. Birdy snatches it and flips it open to the first page, stares intently down at it.

Photo leans on her hand, watches Birdy stare intently at the page, lips drawn thin and eyes barely moving.

“You totally can’t read,” Photo says after watching Birdy for five minutes.

“Shut up,” Birdy growls, closes the book. “Don’t tell Runner.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Photo agrees, nods solemnly.

***

“How the hell you get comfy up here?” Tooth asks, leans her weight so the roof wobbles beneath them.

“Easy,” Watch replies, scoots further out on the ridge of the roof. “Just move around until you’re arranged.”

“Fuck you,” Tooth mutters, softens it with a smile.

“What, your old lady hips going bad? Can’t move well enough to get comfy?” Watch purses her lips, puts over her shoulder at Tooth, who raises her middle finger. Watch busts into a grin.

“More like, are you fucking humping the roof to get comfy, cause ain’t no way to sit on a roof like this comfortably without doing that.”

“And what if I was?” Watch asks, turns her upper body to plant her hands, flips her hips and legs around in one smooth motion so she straddles the peak of the roof. “Ooh, baby, harder!” she laughs, humps half-heartedly against the roof.

“You are fucking terrible,” Tooth laughs, presses one hand over her eyes, waves the other out in front of herself in a ‘stop’ motion.

“Old lady sensibilities can’t take it?” Watch asks, but stops humping.

“I’m only three years older than you,” Tooth snorts, uncovers her eyes when she hears Watch stop moving.

“Old lady,” Watch repeats, turns back around, settles herself on the peak of the house, legs trailing down the roof, faces to the west so the sun is at her back.

“So, why are we both up here?” Tooth asks after a moment, swings her legs down alongside Watch’s, sits just over the peak of the roof so she won’t slide.

“I get bored up here by myself,” Watch replies, pulls out a knife--some tiny thing made out of what looks like a sanded-down piece of scrap metal--and then a chunk of dried cactus from her pockets. She studies her piece of cactus, turns it in one hand, closes first one eye, then switches, and then tucks her elbows in as she starts chipping with the knife.

“So you want me up here why?” Tooth asks, squints across the tops of the buildings. In the distance, the heat is already starting to rise from the desert floor in waves.

“I spy with my little eye something feathery.” Watch replies, holds her cactus piece up against the cool side of the horizon.

“Boss’s bird, easy,” Tooth says. “Ain’t seen a single bird besides that one for weeks.”

“Wrong,” Watch replies, grinning. “Not the boss’s bird.”

Tooth groans and follows Watch’s eyes, tries to guess her line of sight.

“Vultures circling over there.” She raises her arm, leans into Watch’s shoulder so the angle is closer to right.

“Got it in two. Not bad.” Watch nods, turns her cactus in her hands. “Your turn.”

Tooth sits back, studies the horizon.

“You picked a really shitty direction to start this game in,” she grumbles, levers herself up on her hands to turn around, look back toward the town. “I spy with my little eye something…” she squints. “With a shit eating grin.”

“Dredge,” Watch replies without looking up.

“Try again,” Tooth laughs. “Dredge appears to be nursing a baby, not saying something funny.”

“Dammit,” Watch groans, turns around too, starts scanning faces.

***

“Alright, Birdy, you ready for this?” Burn asks, bumps her shoulder into Birdy’s. The night is warm, still, so most of the team is spread across the front lawn, Lucinda still sitting up in her deck chair, Watch settled on the roof. Runner and Drummer are curled together in the main room of the house, Drummer sleeping on her stomach, Runner on her stomach too, half her torso propped on Drummer’s back, drooling against the nape of Drummer’s neck.

“Ready,” Birdy agrees, holds up her ball of twine. Burn grins wide, lifts her own two balls of yarn before tossing one into her hood and stepping carefully over Runner’s sprawled arm and legs. Runner moves, twitches, makes a soft noise in the back of her throat.

“Sh, sh, ‘s me,” Burn reassures her, bends at the waist to run her fingers up the back of Runner’s arm. Runner turns her head toward the touch, but settles back down. Burn turns her head to wink at Birdy, and ties one end of the twine to a nail, sticking out a couple feet above Drummer’s head. She nods to another nail, near Drummer’s feet, just above the baseboard. She tosses the ball of twine to Birdy, who loops it around the nail a couple times before tossing it back. Drummer stands on tiptoe to tie it around a nail nearer to the ceiling.

They exhaust the ball of twine after two dozen tosses back and forth, ranging all across the room on silent feet. Birdy whips out one of her own balls of twine, and they continue with a second, then a third when the second runs out.

Lucinda shuffles past, not lifting her boots from the floor, halfway through the third ball of twine. SHe squints at the room, doesn't say anything, looks to Burn, then Birdy, then back to Burn, expression turning more puzzled.

Burn points to Drummer and Runner, still asleep, Drummer now snoring gently, before she presses her finger to her lips.

Lucinda raises her eyebrows, looks away, and continues into the kitchen without a word.

Birdy has to stifle a giggle under her hand, and after they use the last of the third ball of string, she and Burn beat a quiet retreat out into the yard, where they lean on each other, presses noses into each others’ shoulders, muffle screams of laughter into jackets and scarves.

Runner is the first one up, in the morning, and yells the entire time it takes for her to escape the web of string.

***

“You’ve got this, right?” Burn asks Watch.

“I got it, don't worry,” Watch agrees, tugs the string just enough for it to pull, not enough to set off the noisemaker in the wall, right next to Drummer’s ear, where she’s wedged behind Runner. “I have the pattern, it’s okay. Just go sleep with your girlfriends.”

“Thank you,” Burn whispers, slides back across the floor to drop down into the hallway. Dredge doesn’t look up from her place on the front steps, El at her chest, sleeping as Dredge rocks her.

She drops onto the floor in front of Runner, scoots back until Runner mumbles something, throws her arm over Burn’s waist, tugs her closer, breathes hot and wet against the back of her neck, breaths catching in her nose so she almost snores.

Burn wiggles her fingers at Birdy, laying across the room, her baby asleep on a folded up trio of blankets Lucinda offered months ago, out of her own bedding. Birdy waves back, grin creeping across her face.

The gentle _skritch skritch skritch_ of radroach legs starts early in the morning, well before dawn. Tooth is the one who notices first, rolls awake, groans when there’s nothing obviously making a noise. She rolls back over, hunches herself tighter into the corner.

Drummer is the next to wake, though, and she freezes for a moment before hurling herself over both Runner and Burn at once, and her voice climbs into a shriek.

The entire room rolls over in their sleeping bags as one, scrambles for guns and knives, sits up enough to fix their eyes on Drummer, who stares wide-eyed at the wall while Burn clutches her side--Drummer planted a hand just below her ribcage in her scramble--and keeps the other hand over her mouth as her eyes nearly bulge from stifled laughter.

Drummer breathes heavy until the bug sound is louder, more steady, and now it sounds less like bugs and more like pinto beans in a tin can.

Burn can’t hold in her giggles anymore, and she laughs as Drummer punches her in the shoulder, scowling.

***

“Alright, what do you need me to get?” Drummer asks, rubs her palms together a she squats next to Runner and Runner’s clay bowl.

“Cazador stinger, one of the dried ones. Big handful of broc flowers. As many jalapeño seeds as you can find me.” Runner sticks her tongue out as she studies the bottom of the bowl. “That should be all I need.”

“Got it,” Drummer agrees, trots off.

She comes back with all the ingredients, and Runner powders the cazador stinger first, grinds it into an awful pus-green dust, adds the jalapeño seeds and grinds those in too, then tosses the broc flower in last.

Drummer starts sneezing as soon as she gets too close, tucks her scarf up over her face. Runner glances over, nods, tugs her own scarf up.

“Go find me some sandburrs,” she orders, points toward the priestess’s adobe and its patchy, bur-y lawn. “As many as you can.”

“You want some cactuses too?” Drummer asks. “Got enough of ‘em out past the fence.”

Runner looks up, through the skeletal bush that’s more a windbreak than a bush anymore. She narrows her eyes, studies the horizon, squints through the heat waves rising off the desert floor.

“Yes,” she says, nods once, sharp and short.

Drummer giggles as she hops to her feet, trots around the bush and out onto the flats.

***

“SInce it looks like you're involved in a prank war, I would recommend checking your sleeping bags before settling down for the night.” Siri points toward Burn’s legs, bandages wrapped over the needlepricks across her feet and calves from the cacti. “And let’s not cause actual bodily harm next time?” She turns to fix her gaze on Drummer, who shrugs and snuggles tighter against Runner, who tips her head side to side and pulls a face.

“Doc means it,” Lucinda pipes up, over her plate of beans and molerat. Her eye is still black, but it’s getting yellower by the day. “No more bleeding injuries.”

“Alright,” Runner agrees, shrugs. “No puncture wounds.”

“No bleeding,” Lucinda repeats, stares Runner down until Runner flops back in her chair and nods.

“No blood. Got it.”

Birdy trots out of the house, holding her sleeping bag out in front of herself, at arm’s length. Powder dusts out of it, when she shakes it opening-down. She turns her eyes on Runner and Drummer, who both shrug.

“It’s itching powder,” Birdy says, turns to Siri, drops her sleeping bag and sticks out one leg, covered in rising, reddening welts. “They put itching powder in my sleeping--” Birdy turns and sneezes into her elbow, three times in rapid succession.

“Bless you,” Twist offers.

Birdy gives her a thumbs up, keeps her nose buried in her elbow as she starts to sneeze again.

“What did you put in the powder?” Siri sighs, turn to Runner and Drummer, narrows her eyes until she decides Runner is the more likely culprit.

“Broc flowers, jalapeño seeds, and, uh.” She slides down in her seat, looks at Siri from between her knees. “Dried cazador gland.”

Siri sighs again, louder. 

“Watch, you and Birdy go to wash up, Runner, you have the ingredients for an antivenom if it’s needed, correct?”

“Yeah,” Runner mumbles. “I’ll get ‘em to you.”

“New rule, no bloody pranks, and nothing that might actually poison someone.” Siri runs her hand down her face and stares at the sleeping bag crumpled on the ground.

The team nods, and Watch trots off with Birdy, toward the well in the center of town, buckets in hand.

***

“Pretty sure this breaks the ‘no bloody pranks’ rule,” Twist murmurs.

“At worst it’ll bruise her a bit,” Birdy replies, scratches at the side of her arm. “And besides, look at what they did.” She holds up her arms, still covered in a rash. 

Twist grunts, settles her elbows on her thighs.

“Tonight? Or just when we find ‘em?”

“Tonight or tomorrow,” Birdy agrees.

“Got it. Off to bed, for now, wake me up if we get a chance.” Twist stands, stretches, and heads in toward her own sleeping bag.

Birdy stays up, rocks her baby until she sees Drummer trot past, out toward the outhouses a ways from town. She’s up in a flash, runs inside to wake up Twist, who rolls to her feet almost immediately.

Birdy leaves her baby on one of the deck chairs, within Watch’s visual range. Watch says nothing as she watches Birdy and Twist follow Drummer over toward the outhouses, wait behind a nearby building until Drummer locks a door behind her.

“Which way do we tip it?” Twist asks.

“Sideways, or backwards,” Birdy replies. “Not forward, though.”

“Got it. Backward is easier, with the line of them.”

“Alright. Let’s do this.”

“Easiest way is to tip from the bottom.” Twist steps out from behind the building, points at the foundation of the outhouse, where there’s a single sagging, splintery wooden step. 

Birdy nods, and they approach on quiet feet. 

Drummer is humming to herself, and Twist gets her fingers under the bottom step, squats. Birdy squats next to her, grins wide as Twist nods and throws her weight into lifting.

Drummer shrieks as the outhouse tips backwards, and Twist and Birdy start sprinting, are already back in their places--Birdy with her baby in her arms, out in front of the house, Twist on top of her sleeping bag, blanket over her shoulders--by the time Drummer storms back into the camp, her hair a mess and her belt still undone.

Birdy buries her nose in her baby’s scalp as Drummer storms past, eyes wide, and makes a beeline for Burn.

***

“This is a prank, isn’t it?” Birdy asks, narrows her eyes at the burlap sack Runner handed her. “There’s no such thing as a snipe.”

“Go ahead and ask the boss. Hey! Boss!” Runner puts her hands on her hips, twists at the waist to yell over her shoulder. “Is a snipe a bird?”

“Yeah!” Lucinda yells back, without looking up from her crooked attempt at mending the widening hole in the knees of her jeans.

“Told you they were real.”

“I’ve hunted ‘em before,” Dredge agrees, shoves her own sack into her belt. “They’re dumber’n a back of rocks, in all the important ways. Real dumb when it comes to people voices, but they’re real good at avoiding animals. Works for us.” Dredge bobs her head, grins.

Burn looks down at her own burlap sack, scowls.

“I’m not buying it,” she says.

Tooth, Twist, and Watch trot into the circle, bags over their shoulders.

“Is this everyone?” Tooth asks. 

“Yeah!” Runner agrees. “Hey, Boss, we’ll be back in time for dinner.” She holds up her bag, shakes it.

Lucinda lifts one hand, waves without looking up.

Siri, Photo, and Drummer stay in their chairs--Siri with her textbook, Photo with her pulp novel, Drummer tapping her fingers on her thighs as she watches people pass by on the main street.

***

“When do we send someone out for them?” Drummer asks, sits up in her chair to scan the horizon. The sun is almost down, just a sliver left over the horizon, sky turning deep blue and stars starting to prick out against the night, low in the east.

“They’ll be back tonight,” Lucinda replies, doesn’t look up from her bird, perched on her lap, pecking at the bouncy rubber ball Lucinda is playing keep-away with. “The whole point of a snipe hunt like this is that it takes forever and they don’t catch on until they’re hungry, tired, and realized they’ve looked like idiots yelling for a bird for…” she trails off, looks up at the sky, squints. “Eight hours?”

“Nine and three quarters,” Photo says, softly, holds up Tooth’s wristwatch.

“Nine and three-quarters hours,” Lucinda agrees and nods. “They’ll be back when they’re back, they can handle whatever the next ten miles out can throw at them.”

Drummer grunts, stands and turns her chair to watch for their approach.

***

They come back at eleven, according to the wristwatch, Dredge with a nightstalker over her shoulder, practically bouncing, Birdy and Burn leaned together, scowling, the rest of the team laughing and talking.

Birdy stops in front of Lucinda, who looks up at her.

“Snipes aren’t real,” she says, and turns and walks back into the house.

“Yes they are!” Lucinda sits up, calls after her. “But they’re waterbirds!”

Dredge drops the nightstalker on the ground, undoes her baby sling and settles El on one of the deck chairs.

“Who’s on watch?” she asks.

“Drummer,” Lucinda replies, nods at Drummer.

“You mind if i stay up and take care of this lady here?” Dredge pats the side of the nightstalker, looks to Drummer. Drummer shrugs.

“Go ahead.”

“Thanks,” Dredge replies, pulls her knife out of its sheath, gets to work.

***

“I’ll stay here today, if you don't mind, Boss.” Burn stretches out in her deck chair, wiggles her bare toes. “Let everyone else go wander around town, I can watch the front door.”

“Sure,” Lucinda agrees. “Could have used you, trying to wrangle more supplies out of the bureaucrats, but you’re welcome to stay here.”

Burn settles further back into her chair and nods, lets her eyes drift closed.

***

Lucinda rounds the corner and stops dead, so suddenly Drummer runs into her, fumbles an apology before she stops too, stares, mouth open.

“Is that--” Twist starts, catches herself.

“Burn!” Lucinda bellows, starts moving again, “Burn!” she yells again, when the woman fails to appear immediately.

Burn carefully, slowly, steps around the the doorframe, still standing on the porch, her shoulders hunched, trying to suppress a smile that fails quickly as Lucinda approaches quickly, hands curled into fists.

“Take them down,” Lucinda says, points to the row of underwear hung from the porch awning.

“I--” Burn starts, holds her hands up.

“Take them _down_ ,” Lucinda repeats, voice dropping, quiet and low. 

“Yes ma’am,” Burn agrees, swallows hard.

Lucinda watches as she moves to the line of twine.


	13. Chapter 13

**CONTENT WARNING: Discussion of drug use**

 

“You can use broc flowers as painkillers, correct?” Siri asks.

“Yeah,” Dredge and Runner agree in unison.

“Also xander root, if you’re hard up for flowers,” Tooth offers.

“Cave fungus and agave fruit, along with those, too, make a good pain numbing poultice,” Lucinda offers. “Heals faster, too. Can also use a little bit of healing powder, some glue, and a little magic will also work.”

“You sniffing the glue?” Dredge asks. “‘Cause that’ll take the pain away real quick.”

“Don’t sniff the glue,” Runner disagrees. “It’ll knock you right out.”

“Well, if you’re in enough pain, that’s what you want,” Tooth points out. “Don’t wanna be awake and in pain, if you can be unconscious and _not_ in pain, right?”

“True,” Lucinda agrees, raises her bottle of water in Tooth’s general direction, nods. Tooth raises her bottle of contraband moonshine in return. “Rather be unconscious than in pain.”

“As a doctor, I’d prefer my patients be conscious unless I’m sure I can _safely_ put them out, _myself_.”

“Didn’t you knock me out when you fixed my leg?” Lucinda asks.

“Holy shit, seriously?” Dredge asks, leans forward. “Our good doctor knocked someone out?”

“She passed out on her own,” Siri replies, tucks her knees up, hides behind her book. “People do that, when they’re in pain, and it’s not ideal but I’d rather they pass out from pain than sniff glue to put themselves out.”

“Aw c’mon, Doc, that’s not a good story.” Dredge grumbles. “Spice it up a little.”

“I’d really rather not,” Siri replies. “Hydra is addictive, it’s because of the cave fungus?”

“Radscorpion venom,” Runner replies. “It’ll knock you out if you prepare it certain ways, Legion hit on it on accident.” She picks at one of her fingernails, peels away a strip of skin from a hangnail. “You prepare it just right, though, it’ll keep you hooked.” She taps her lip with one finger. ”Makes your lips go numb.”

“You got experience?” Tooth asks, tips her bottle back and forth. Her cheeks are turning red, a quarter of the way through her child-sized pre-war water bottle full of moonshine. “You done it more than once?”

“It’ll fuck you up,” Runner replies, instead of a real answer, holds up her own bottle of water.

“Please don't start doing anything with radscorpion venom,” Siri sighs.

“It’s a bad idea,” Runner agrees.

“Alright, we got,” Dredge cranes her neck, looks at the rest of the team, circled around the dice game Burn is running, “We got all the tribals here, right? Yeah, cause there ain’t many of us born outside the Legion. So.” Dredge scoots forward on her chair, grins wide, waggles her eyebrows, looks between the other four women. “Worst shit you’ve eaten or drunk to get high?”

“No,” Siri says, drops her legs and flattens her book out across her thighs. “You're not--”

“Powdered cazador venom sac, with a side of cave fungus and powdered nightstalker fangs. Had the antivenom right there, but _shit_ that was a weird trip,” Tooth offers, cuts off Siri, who looks between the other four women, scowling. Tooth takes a swig of her moonshine.

“Radscorpions,” Runner replies, shrugs. “I’m pretty boring, but I had a kid and a wife and I needed to be sober so I didn't trip over a cactus and bleed out, so, y’know.” She shrugs again.

“Boss?” Dredge asks, grin creeping wider as she sneaks a glance at Siri, who’s fuming, now, fiddling with the edges of the pages in her book, staring straight ahead, muscle in her jaw twitching.

“You first,” Lucinda replies, lets her eyes drift closed.

Dredge laughs.

“Fine, then. Got a few jars of something off some traders from out in Utah, they said, called it green gecko spit even though I ain’t ever seen a green gecko.”

“They're real,” Lucinda offers. “The inside of my coat is reinforced with green gecko leather. It’s about as tough as golden hide, but it’s a lot less radioactive.”

“Anyway, couple of us hunters got together, diluted this stuff with about a thumbtip’s worth of it into a full bottle of water, right. Gave one guy seizures, gave the rest of us weird tingly feelings in our hands for a couple weeks after, saw some fucked up shit while I was out.” Dredge looks Lucinda in the eye. “Your turn.”

“Please, stop,” Siri groans, flops back in her chair, presses her hands over her face. Dredge laughs, Lucinda shifts in her seat, glances at Siri before taking a deep breath and meeting Dredge’s eyes again.

“Pre-war allergy medicine, took a dose meant for someone twice my size, spent an entire day hallucinating wild shit. Monsters in the trees, bugs, the works.”

“Sounds like a trip,” Tooth replies, giggles. Runner smiles at Tooth’s joke.

“Initiation rituals,” Lucinda replies, runs her hand down her bird’s back. Her bird barely stirs from where she’s settled down between Lucinda’s thighs. “They usually are.”

“Got that right,” Tooth agrees, raises her bottle in a toast that Runner and Lucinda offer back before taking another swig.

“I don’t want to hear anymore of this conversation,” Siri mumbles, hides behind her book again.

“Sorry,” Lucinda offers, voice low and soft.

Siri still gives her a look

***

“Twist?” Photo’s voice is quiet, as she crawls across the sleeping bags, flops down next to Twist.

“Hm?” Twist grunts, doesn’t move, keeps her hands behind her head and her knees crossed over each other.

“Are you still gonna run away?”

Twist breathes deeply, doesn't respond for a long minute.

“No,” she says, voice low in her chest. “I don’t like this, but I don’t want to go back to menial tasks and beatings.” She lets that hang in the air, as Photo picks at the splinters in the floor, doesn't look at her. “And you and Birdy need someone around.”

“I’m fine,” Photo replies.

“You’re still a kid,” Twist replies, snorts, smiles. “Know you don't like that, but it’s true.”

“There are other people around,” Photo grumbles.

“Not any that’ll call the Boss on her bullshit, though,” Twist replies. “Everyone else wants to keep living. No one else has the balls to call her. Dredge is great, but Dredge won't call her on it. Doc won’t call it. Runner, Drummer, Burn, Tooth, Watch, none of them want to deal with the consequences.” Twist bares her teeth in something that might be mistaken for a smile. “I respect that, I understand trying not get by. But I can’t do it.”

“Oh,” Photo says, softly. They’re both quiet for a long minute before Photo speaks again. “What about Birdy?”

“Birdy’ll grow into having questions,” Twist replies. She’ll get there, eventually.”

“What about me?” Photo asks, props her chin up on her hands, grins.

“When’s the last time you said anything bad about the Boss?” Twist asks, opens one eye, raises the corresponding eyebrow. “Last I heard you were telling Birdy how pretty she was.”

“She _is_ pretty!” Photo grumbles, buries her face in her arms. Twist laughs.

“You might grow into it yet,” she murmurs, pulls one arm out from under her head to tap the back of Photo’s head with her knuckles. “Not without someone around to show you how it’s done, though.”

***

Owl-Eagle doesn't move from her chair as Lucinda enters the adobe, bird close behind.

“Watch--is that her name?--she’s very smart.”

“She is.” Lucinda sits down, puts her boots up on the table. Owl-Eagle looks up, from her book, finally, raises both eyebrows, flicks her eyes at the floor. Lucinda removes her feet from the table. “She’s a vulture. Has that sort of quietness to her.”

“That’s not a reason to call her a Vulture, Raven. Your mother the Magpie was awful quiet too.”

Lucinda glances at the door. “Killed a boy who was harassing her. I doubt it’s the first time she’s done something like it, or seen something like it.”

“She was one of them born Legion, right?” Owl-Eagle asks, puts her feet up on the table, leans back in her chair.

“Yeah,” Lucinda agrees. “I don’t know anything about who her people were, though. I know Burn is two generations down, Birdy wasn’t born Legion but doesn’t remember anything else, no clue on Drummer either.” She shakes her head. “I’ll let them keep their secrets. Watch might not be a Vulture, yet, but she’s growing into one.”

Owl-Eagle nods.

“You know, I think I heard a rumor about one of our Vultures making a run for it. Last I’d heard, no one had dragged her back and crucified her yet, so either it was my mistake in thinking it was her, or she made it out.”

“Which one? Ours-ours, or someone else’s?”

“Ours-ours,” Owl-Eagle replies, grins. “Should have known they couldn’t keep her anywhere she didn't want to be.”

Lucinda laughs.

“How did she do it?”

“They put her on weapons tech, after she showed her Reaver colors, she cobbled together something out of broken parts from other guns and knives. I don’t know the specifics, but knowing her it’s probably still working, even now.”

Lucinda hums. “How long ago did she make it out?”

“Two years, I think it was.” Owl-Eagle closes her book, sets it aside. “It was after the first battle at the Dam, long enough they'd relaxed some of our measures here at home.”

“Have you heard of any of the rest of ours making it out?” Lucinda asks, tucks her feet back under her chair, her hands between her thighs. “Anyone at all?”

Owl-Eagle shakes her head. “You’re the closest I’ve seen, aside from our Vulture. Could be others, too, from other groups, but I don’t know any of them well enough to match them to my grapevine reports.”

Lucinda nods, looks away.

They’re both quiet for a long minute, and Lucinda watches her bird prod at the bookshelf, tilt her head one way, then the other.

“We’re leaving today, once everyone is packed up.”

“You’ll be back when?” Owl-Eagle asks.

“A few more towns,” Lucinda replies. “Probably not long, it takes a toll on everyone, and I don’t want to push them too hard.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Owl-Eagle replies, turns to watch Lucinda’s bird hop across the floor.

“Twist would probably punch me again if I tried,” Lucinda replies, and laughs. 

“You push your women too hard, I’m not sure you deserve much else.” Owl-Eagle looks over at Lucinda, and they both laugh together.

“But I wanted to come say goodbye before we left.”

“Of course,” Owl-Eagle agrees, drops her feet off the table, hauls herself upright. Lucinda stands, too, and throws herself into Owl-Eagle’s arms, buries her nose in Owl-Eagle’s neck.

“You’ll do us proud yet, Raven,” Owl-Eagle murmurs, runs a hand up and down Lucinda’s back. “You’ll be the last of us standing, and they’ll look at you someday and know that you're one of ours. Some of the women slaves already talk about you, you know?”

“What do they say?” Lucinda asks, inhales the reek of cigarette smoke off Owl-Eagle’s jacket.

“They say the Daughter of Mars doesn't take any shit from the men, so why should they? Most of them are still too afraid to push back, but you can hear in their voices that they’re starting to make plans.”

Lucinda stays silent for a long minute, doesn’t pull away.

“I should get going,” she finally says, pushes away. “I want to leave before noon, and unless I’m over there to keep them going they won’t be packed by then.”

“Do on them” Owl-Eagle agrees. “You stay safe out there, Raven. Don’t let the Legion get to you.”

Lucinda nods and turns away, heads back out the door, bird following behind.

***

It’s cool enough they set up tents, instead of sleeping in the open, and Lucinda offers her coat to Watch before she slips into the tent she’s sharing with Siri and Photo.

Photo is already asleep, snoring gently, one hand on her book, splayed pages-down in the dirt, its spine bent into a U. Siri is still awake, lying on her back, arms folded over her stomach, eyes fixed on the threadbare wool blanket serving as a roof.

“Mmm,” Lucinda grunts, settles onto her own sleeping bag next to Siri.

“How far out are we?” Siri asks.

“Three days,” Lucinda replies, unties her boots, sets them aside. “Or so.”

“I’d have thought it would be longer,” Siri murmurs.

“Different direction.” Lucinda says, shakes her head, drops back onto her elbows. “South now, instead of west.”

“Still,” Siri replies. Lucinda drops the rest of the way, cross her own arms over her stomach. She uncrosses them after a moment, rolls over, throws one arm over Siri’s stomach. just below Siri’s arms.

“Okay?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Siri agrees, uncrosses her arms after a moment. She wraps her fingers around Lucinda’s hand, and Lucinda inches closer, presses their hips together, tightens her arm across Siri. Siri moves closer, as much as she can, and they rearrange until Lucinda's head is on Siri’s shoulder, breath warm across her collarbone, Siri’s hand ghosting over Lucinda’s braid.

They don't talk anymore, and Lucinda falls asleep quickly, begins to drool. Siri tries not to think about it too much.


	14. Chapter 14

**CONTENT WARNING: Violence**

 

Birdy sits in front of the town hall, bounces her baby in her arms, watches the other three as the ywave the townspeople into the town hall. Dredge has El slung around her back, machete in hand, eyes carefully blank, the rest of her face under a bandana to hide her identity. Drummer--scarf arranged around her mouth and nose, goggles over her eyes, repeater slung loose at her hip--and Lucinda--face set, gun still on its strap around her shoulder but easy to reach if needed, hat tilted back far enough the sun illuminates her mouth and chin and neck--stand by, . They settle around the edges of the room, mothers with children, couples huddles together, the mayor and the woman who had the town's only gun sitting next to each other, a few people crying, most silent with their eyes down. Drummer locks the door, bars it, settles down on the bench next to Birdy. Everyone else who came along--Tooth, Burn, Twist, Runner--stays out in the street.

“There’s a communal shower, if any of you want a turn before we leave town,” Lucinda says, points to the squat brick building halfway down the street. “I’ll be going to get the others back at camp in a bit, since they deserve a chance at it too.”

“I call dibs,” Dredge yells, trots toward the building, waves over her shoulder. 

“I think there's even hot water!” Lucinda calls after her. “Don’t use it all!”

“That's why I called dibs!” Dredge yells back.

Burn and Twist follow after Dredge, Tooth after them, Birdy after her. Drummer stays on the bench in front of the town hall.

“I'll send Runner to get the others,” Lucinda says, sits down next to her. “You can go if you want.”

“I’ll let all them figure it out, I figure Burn’ll come back and warn me how the showers work.” She kicks her feet up onto the wood railing, slides forward in her seat until her ankles rest on the railing instead of just her heels, folds her hands behind her head. “I ain’t in any rush, Boss.” She sighs through her nose, closes her eyes, basks in the late-afternoon sun slanting under the porch roof.

Lucinda hums, folds her arms across her stomach, leans back. She can’t get her feet up on the railing without sliding off the seat--Drummer’s legs must be three inches longer, that she can do it--so she stretches as far as she can.

“If you wanna go shower, you can, I c’n hold down the fort fine on my own.” Drummer lifts one hand back over her shoulder, raps her knuckles against the rough wood shingles covering the outside of the building.

“I think I'll hold off for a while,” Lucinda replies.

“Aww, you shy about stripping in front of everyone?” Drummer teases. Lucinda rolls her eyes.

“Only in actual shower facilities, who _cares_ when I’m just trying to bathe in a _stream_.” She shakes her head. “Just trying to let ‘em have fun without having to perform for me.”

“You think they’re gonna be _performing_ in the shower?” Drummer asks, laughs.

“Not-- _performing_ ,” Lucinda grumbles. “I just want them to have fun without worrying about what I think. I don’t care how long they take to shower or whether they wash their hair or their ass first.”

“Don’t think any of ‘em care what you think.”

“Don’t wanna risk it anyway.”

“Suit yourself,” Drummer replies, shrugs.

***

Runner comes back, Siri, Watch, and Photo in tow. Siri has a real bar of soap clutched in one hand, as does Photo. Photo also has one of her blankets draped over her arm.

Runner waves to Drummer, and Drummer stands, stretches, and saunters over toward her.

Dredge and Birdy exit the shower building first, Dredge with her mohawk still dripping, plastered soggily to one side of her head, Birdy with her hair loose and scraggling down her back. Dredge is in just her jacket and her jeans, t-shirt slung over her shoulder, dripping, her socks over the other, also wet, her boots hanging by their laces, tied through one of her belt loops. Birdy is in her undershirt, her borrowed button-up soggy and tied around her waist.

“Good chance to do laundry,” Dredge calls, waves.

“Put your shirt on,” Siri calls back.

“It’s white, Doc, you can see my tits just as well if I’ve got it on,” Dredge replies, tips her head, grins. Birdy snorts, hides her smile behind one hand.

Twist leaves next, her shirt and pants on, but soaked, and her jacket, socks, and shoes all off, also soaked. Burn putters out in a shirt and her undershorts, Tooth follows in just her jeans.

“Showers are all yours,” Tooth calls, slings her dripping clothes over the clothesline running between two houses. “Think Burn used up all the hot water though.”

“It was definitely Dredge,” Burn replies, points to Dredge, who’s settled on a bench in front of the general store.

“No it wasn’t,” Dredge calls back. “It’s Twist.”

“It was you,” Twist replies, tips herself forward to shake her hair out and unstick her shirt from her front. “I think you ran yours on straight hot water for fifteen minutes.”

“Did not,” Dredge replies, sets her hands on her hips, tilts her chin down and scowls. “It was ten, maybe.”

“Fifteen,” Birdy disagrees, settles next to her.

“Fine, maybe it was fifteen,” Dredge grumbles, tosses her shirt and socks over the back of the bench with a wet _slap_. “Ain’t my fault they ain’t got enough hot water.”

Lucinda rolls her eyes, hauls herself up off the bench, starts toward the shower building.

Drummer, Runner, and the three from back at camp follow after. 

Drummer and Runner duck into the same brick stall, Drummer drags the curtain closed and Runner say something low and soft, laughs. Photo picks a stall across and one down from them, pulls her own curtain closed, starts humming as she tosses her clothes over the wall and turns on the water. Watch takes the stall across from Runner and Drummer, doesn't bother to close the curtain before stripping, dropping her clothes in a heap at her feet, and turning the water on full blast.

Siri takes the stall at the far end, carefully pulls her curtain closed. There's the thunk of the bar of soap on a metal shelf, then a trickle of water, then a blast, and a sharp inhale.

Lucinda enters last, her bird hopping behind, then flapping up onto one of the stall walls. The only open stalls are--across from Siri and next to Photo, or next to Siri and across from Photo.

She chooses next to Siri, with Drummer and Runner laughing, yelling, shoving each other under the cold water, on her other side.

Lucinda tosses her coat over the rusty folding chair by the door, leaves her boots next to the chair. She peels off her socks and shirt, starts undoing her belt as she pulls the curtain closed in her stall, sheds her shirt, her pants, her bra, her underwear, cranks the water high and shivers as the first blast of cold hits her skin. Her raven hops down off the wall, rolls through the puddle around the floor drain.

“Fun, huh?” Lucinda asks, shuffles her feet around her bird so her bird snaps at her toes, rolls back to her feet and shakes water off her wings. “What, my feet not good enough for you?” Lucinda laughs. “You ungrateful little mooch, I offer you toys and you don't use them.”

“Please don't use your own body parts as toys for your bird,” Siri says. “I've seen her beak, and I've seen what other ravens do to bodies, and I would appreciate it if you kept all of your toes.”

Lucinda is just about to answer when Runner yelps and someone crashes to the floor.

“Fuck you,” Runner groans, and Drummer laughs.

“What are you two doing?” Lucinda asks, unties the end of her braid, starts combing it out. She can see dirt swirling around the drain--was she really that dusty?

“Nothing,” Runner says. “Nothing at all.”

“Keep your hands off each other,” Lucinda warns. “I don’t wanna hear it.”

“We weren't doing anything,” Drummer insists.

“Right,” Lucinda replies. “I definitely believe you. It’s not at all like you two have a _history_ of doing this.”

“We weren’t doing anything!” Drummer insists again. “And even if we were, we wouldn’t be now.”

“Good,” Lucinda replies.

Photo is actually singing now, off-key and reedy, but with a lot of feeling. Watch is humming along, loudly, like she’s trying to drown out Photo.

Siri is still quiet.

Lucinda starts combing her fingers through her hair-- _god_ it’s tangled, she needs to do this more often--reminds herself not to think about the fact Siri is naked.

It works for all of five seconds, before she tips her face up, directly into the spray of water, to try to banish thoughts of--well, she’s seen them all naked, before, when this all began. Tries not to think about Siri, naked, in the stall next to her. Tries to focus back in on her hands, picking apart knots, and her raven between her feet, doing her best to be in the way. Refocusing doesn’t really work, and her hands falter to a stop as Siri starts half-singing along with Photo, tune breathy and barely audible.

Her bird pecks her foot, and she shakes her off.

“Oy,” she grumbles. “Cut it out.”

Watch’s shower turns off, and her feet slap on the wet floor as she--gets dressed, maybe, the sound of wet fabric on wet fabric, soft huff of disgust. Photo’s turns off, too, and she drops back to humming instead of singing. Drummer and Runner finish a moment later, dress behind their curtain.

When they leave, it’s just Lucinda and Siri and the bird left in the showers.

Lucinda scrubs herself down as best she can, with no soap, tips forward to wash the back of her head, turns to rinse her back. Her bird continues to hop around her feet, splash her wings in the puddle, chase eddies of water around the drain.

Siri finished her shower, next, and pauses a long moment to wring out her clothes before getting dressed. Lucinda watches, Siri’s arms sticking up over the wall, pulling her shirt on, stretching towards the ceiling. She looks stronger than she did even a few months ago, in the Fort, even carrying only her own things this whole time.

“I’ll be out in a few minutes,” Lucinda says, before Siri can ask. “Hair,” she offers as an explanation.

“I’ll try to keep them all from mutiny,” Siri laughs. 

“There's a restaurant down the street, tell them to go eat,” Lucinda suggests. Siri stops outside the curtain, and Lucinda is _aware_ of how she’s standing, facing toward Siri, hip cocked, arms above her head as she tries to dig a knot on the top of her head apart. Open. Exposed. 

It’s been a long time since she’s been uncomfortable being naked around others.

“I’ll be done in just a bit, I’m just having trouble with my hair.” She smiles, laughs. Her bird hops toward the curtain, ducks under it to follow Siri out of the building.

***

“Hey, Boss, look at this!” Dredge holds up a big square of paper, a familiar face plastered across it. “Says they’ll pay me an awful lot of money if I turn you in to a ranger station.”

“You gonna try it?” Lucinda asks, and tries to locate Twist without moving. Twist laughs at something Drummer says, up on the town hall porch, doesn’t seem to have heard Dredge.

“Nah,” Dredge agrees, turns the poster around to study it. “You're kinda cute here, how old are you in this picture?”

“Younger than Tooth, older than Watch,” Lucinda replies, digs her hands into her pockets, steps to Dredge’s side. The photo is washed out, but her freckles stand out still. She does look like her mother, Owl-Eagle wasn’t lying. She tries to stop herself from pressing at her cheek, because now Dredge is watching.

“Little bitty baby Boss,” Dredge laughs. Lucinda crosses her arms over her chest, scowls at herself. She’d stared straight into the camera for the photo, and now, six years later, she stares back at herself, eyes wide and tired, her cheeks hollowing from a week on whatever minimal food she could scrounge while she tried to reach the NCR. “You really are kinda cute here.”

“I look like my mother,” Lucinda replies, wrinkles her nose as she studies the lines of her own face.

“Hey, you think the Doc’ll appreciate this picture of you? Something nice to look at while we’re off at work?”

Dredge laughs as Lucinda punches her in the shoulder, redirects her scowl.

***

There are no gunshots, but Watch yells a warning. Tooth shakes Twist and Dredge awake, Twist wakes Drummer and Burn. Lucinda is already on her feet before Watch finishes her yell, eyes wide, pupils blown in the dark, teeth bared. Siri, Photo, and Birdy huddle together at the base of the windbreak rock, and Twist takes to one knee in front of them. Dredge passes her baby to Twist, who passes her back to Siri, who takes El as she starts to cry.

Drummer and Runner turn toward the south, Tooth toward the north, hopping up next to Watch but keeping low to the rock, Burn and Dredge to the west, and Lucinda to the east.

“What direction?” Lucinda asks. 

“West,” Watch replies. “I saw three, but I wouldn't expect less than five.”

“Right,” Lucinda agrees. “Runner, Tooth, Burn, you still have your stealth boys?”

“Yes ma’am,” Runner agrees, and the rest of the team turns back toward the west, follow Dredge and Burn out.

“You four, stay here. Twist, you're the last line of defense here. We’ll try to keep them from getting this far, but there’s no guarantee.”

“I got this, Boss,” Twist agrees. She nods, once, slowly, then jerks her head toward the rest of the team, already swallowed up by the dark. Behind her, Birdy has one arm around Photo’s shoulder, and Photo leans into her, keeps her eyes on Birdy’s baby. Siri has her legs folded up, El secure in her arms, eyes down. Breathing deliberately slow, exact, like she’s counting between every inhale and exhale.

Lucinda turns away, draws her machete.

It’s night time, which means unless they have night scopes on their rifles--actually not unlikely, she reminds herself, sharp stab of acknowledgement up her spine--it’s better to try to get close, take someone out with a pistol or a knife. Harder to miss in the dark, that way.

“If anyone gets too close, use the babies,” Lucinda calls over her shoulder. 

“We know!” Twist calls back as Lucinda disappears into the dark.

Just a sliver of moon in the sky, stars brilliant, the scrub and rocks across the ground making it hard to tell what’s a person and whats a thing. Runner, Tooth, and Burn all fade out near-entirely in the dark, with their stealth boys, just the faintest flicker where the moonlight catches just wrong on a plane of Burn’s face, on Runner's hair, on the polished rock that sits in the hollow of Runner’s throat. Watch disappears, too, keeps herself low to the ground, keeps herself camouflaged so she fades into the ground, revolver in one hand. Dredge keeps low, too, but she’s still unmistakably human. Drummer, too, repeater clutched in one hand. She hasn't ever had to shoot someone. No one on this team has shot some _one_ , Lucinda knows. Watch has killed someone, though. Others, maybe, too. Drummer hasn’t. 

“What are they, Watch?” Lucinda asks, activates her own stealth boy. It’s a chem-rush, every time, makes her heart skip a beat, her vision go extra-sharp and her thoughts roll easy. Makes her feel powerful. Easy to see where the addiction would come from. Makes her itch for a cigarette.

“Rangers,” Watch calls back, immediately starts moving, halting, like a tumbleweed would. “Saw one hat, two helmets. I expect if there’s more they’ll be in helmets too.”

“Right,” Lucinda agrees.

She can see them, now, two pairs of two pricks of red in the darkness, a soft white blotch between them, spread across twenty yards of ground, staggered so they’re not in a line. Harder to pick out. Advancing, though, steadily.

“Dredge, the right. Drummer, with her. Tooth, Watch, you take the left. Runner, with me, we take center.”

“And if there’s more?” Dredge asks.

“We deal with them after,” Lucinda says. “Now go.”

They split into pairs, easy, and the rangers don’t see them coming. The one on the left--farther away than the others from each other--gurgles once, a strangled noise as Tooth slips around him, leaps onto his back, drags him down, and Watch swings her woodcarving knife into his throat. Hat-ranger spins to look, eyes going wide and white in the faint moonlight, and he doesn’t see the flicker of Runner and her combat knife, slides into his chest, tears out with the awful saw of a serrated edge on bone. Lucinda stabs him, too, as he falls, digs her bowie knife into his heart, twists as far as she can between ribs. He reaches up for her, gurgles, blood dribbling out of the corner of his mouth, eyes going wider, terrified, as she stares him in the eye. He goes slack as Dredge yells, yowls, and there's a _flump_ of bodies hitting the ground. Dredge is still yelling, even as there’s the sound of a gunshot--Drummer’s repeater, cycle of the action, and Dredge whines, long and low and desperate.

Lucinda rounds on them, sees Dredge sprawled across the ground, Drummer with her hands shaking as she stands over Dredge and the ranger. The ranger isn’t moving.

“Dredge?” Lucinda calls, approaches. 

“My shoulder,” Dredge calls back, edge of pain in her voice. “Yanked my arm wrong, I--” She wheezes. “I’m done for the night. I’m--” She wheezes again.

“Drummer, take her back to Siri. The rest of you, spread out in case they have others on their way. Keep moving, if there’s a sniper don’t let yourself be nailed down. Keep moving.”

“Got it, Boss,” Burn agrees, looks to Drummer, who has her back turned on the ranger, is trying to get Dredge’s good arm over her shoulders.

“Runner, take that one’s gun. Any ammo you find on him too.”

“Are you looting--” Burn starts, scowls, eyebrows crinkling together.

“He’s not going to be using it anymore,” Lucinda replies, keeps her voice low. “Just take the gun, Runner. Send your old one back with Drummer.”

Runner takes a deep breath, looks between Burn--her face carefully blank, shifting from foot to foot--and Drummer--face also carefully blank, turned back toward the camp.

Runner takes his gun off the ground.

Lucinda watches, sighs, and digs out a box of ammunition from one of her pockets. 

“Here. I’ll come back and loot him myself since you’re all so squeamish about it.”

Dredge whines, and it turns into a cough.

“Go on,” Lucinda says, points back to camp. “The rest of you, let’s go. Spread out, don’t get shot.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Watch replies. “Was definitely planning on getting shot, now that you told me not to, I’m gonna do my best to follow orders.”

“Don’t be a smartass,” Lucinda replies.

Watch laughs.

***

There is one more ranger, and Watch is the one who kills him--knife to the back of his neck, and he twitches as he slumps to the ground. Watch hesitates for only a moment before she takes his sniper rifle, hefts it awkwardly in her arms, turns to look for everyone else. Lucinda waves, and Watch heads back toward camp.

***

Siri is on one knee next to Dredge, El passed off to Twist. She holds Dredge’s wrist in one hand, her elbow in the other.

“Stop squirming,” she growls. “You’re making it worse.”

“Look, Doc, I know we don’t get along but--” Dredge gasps as Siri twists her wrist out away from her body, pushes her elbow forward until the ball of her shoulder pops back into joint, and then crosses Dredge’s arm across her stomach as Dredge makes a soft noise.

“Better?” Siri asks.

“Yeah,” Dredge agrees weakly.

“I want you to avoid using this arm for at least a week, alright? I don’t want you to use it to hold El, to shoot, to use a machete, to eat. I’m going to rig up a sling for you, I expect to see you with it for seven days, are we clear?”

“Yeah,” Dredge agrees, shifts. Siri’s hands are still on her, but she doesn’t pull away.

“Alright,” Siri agrees, sits back on her heels to reach for her bag, pulls out a length of cloth, arranges it around Dredge’s neck and arm as Twist, Birdy, Photo and Drummer all watch.

***

Lucinda is the last one to come into camp, three coats bundled together over one shoulder, two guns slung over her other. Watch and Runner both lay their new guns down, in the lineup, as Lucinda tosses the two on the ground. 

“Take what you want. The coats are good leather, they’ll keep for years. Take the guns too, if you want, we have rounds for all of them. Dredge, how are you?”

“Shoulder hurts like a motherfucker but the Doc popped it right back into place last night, no problem,” Dredge replies, grins wide. There are circles under her eyes, though, like she didn’t sleep. Lucinda nods, turns to Twist.

“No trouble last night?” she asks.

“None,” Twist agrees. “Don’t trust there won’t be some yet.”

Lucinda nods, turns back toward the guns.

“Watch, you had the sniper rifle, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Watch agrees, narrows her eyes, looks between Lucinda and the gun.

“It’s yours. Keep it. We’ll find you a suppressor, if you’re interested.”

“Never used something that strong, before,” Watch says, considers the rifle a moment longer.

“Has nasty recoil, but with a suppressor it’s fairly quiet, and you can be a long ways from your target and still hit them without being noticed.” Lucinda squats next to the rifle. “Runner, you want to keep the brush gun?”

“Uh, sure, ma’am,” Runner agrees. She steps closer, reaches down to take the gun.

“Dredge?” Lucinda asks. “Oughta upgrade from your shotgun.”

“Don’t feel like I really need one,” Dredge replies. “Ain’t like I been doing a whole lotta shooting.”

“I think things are about to change, on that front,” Lucinda says. She picks up one of the two remaining guns, hands it to Dredge--a hunting rifle, scoped, stock carved out of deep red wood and embellished with lacquered-on paintings. “Yours now.”

“Thanks,” Dredge replies, voice flat. She settles it across her lap, runs her good hand over the barrel, the action, the stock, traces the flower pattern. She’s not quite frowning. “I’m keeping the shotgun though,” she adds. Lucinda laughs.

Watch looks at her revolver, turns it one way, then the other, spins the cylinder.

“Hey, Birdy,” she says, slides back down off her rock to land next to her. “You want a gun?” She turns the revolver in her hand, offers it to Birdy grip-first. “You probably won’t ever need it, but at least you would have _something_ in case you do.”

Birdy looks at the revolver, turns first one way, then the other, then carefully takes it.

“You’ll have to show me how to reload it and everything,” Birdy says.

“That’s easy enough, I can do that no problem.” Watch leans back against the rock, stretches her legs out. Birdy’s are longer, even though she’s younger. “I can show you later, if you want?”

“Sure!” Birdy agrees.

On the other end of camp, Runner presses her hunting rifle into Drummer’s hands.

“I don’t need two guns,” she says, and Drummer nods, doesn’t say anything. Stands, walks to the line of guns, line of coats, leaves her repeater next to the last gun, another hunting rifle. She hesitates a moment, glances at Lucinda--who is feeding her bird half-chewed jerky--before she takes one of the ranger’s coats, slides her arms into the sleeves. Buries her nose in the collar--reeks of sweat and dirt and mildew-- rolls her arms back and forth in the sleeves, feels the drag of the quilting across her skin. She turns around, goes back to sit next to Runner and Burn, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder on their sleeping bags.

***

Lucinda finds Photo standing in front of the general store, staring at the WANTED poster. It’s the same as the one in the last town, her younger self staring back from tired eyes.

“Did you really do all that?” Photo asks. Lucinda scans the list, tries to figure the words as best she can.

“Yeah,” she says. Turns around, tips her hat back. Studies the town square--there’s another poster nailed to one of the pre-war telephone lines that’s holding up the pavilion roof, another glued to the ranger station front wall, a fourth, half-burned, skittering across the street in the breeze.

Photo is quiet for a long minute.

“They’re offering a lot of money,” she says. 

“They’d pay for anyone on this team to be turned in,” Lucinda says, does finally cast a sideways glance at Photo. “I’m just the one they want the most, for the most crimes.”

“Thirteen thousand dollars,” Photo murmurs.

“Wanted dead or alive,” Lucinda says, repeats it off the poster. That much is clear enough. “They’ll have to bring me into the NCR dead if they do it.”

“Really?” Photo asks.

“Yeah,” Lucinda agrees. “The fuckers will have me hanged anyway. Rather die fighting than on a scaffold.” She pauses. “Or a cross.”

“The NCR doesn't crucify people.”

“How long you think we last in the Legion.” Lucinda tilts her chin down, over, so she’s looking at Photo from beneath the brim of her hat. She digs for a cigarette and a match, lights it before she says anything else. “How long before they break this up, hang me on a cross for something stupid, kill or maim or bury the rest of you under rules and regulations and babies and slavemasters?”

“They’ll probably just send me home.” Photo scuffs her foot on the floorboards, and Lucinda throws her head back to laugh.

“Don’t say that like it’s a bad thing, kid, at least you’ve still got a home to go back to.” She flicks ash off the end of her cigarette. “Some of us don’t have that, so appreciate it.”

***

“Lucy, I need to collect some plants, if I’m going to be making medicine for the team.”

“Sure,” Lucinda agrees, rolls to her feet, reaches for her gun.

“I’d like to bring Photo along, since she has the least practical knowledge on the matter, and you have some of the most for this region.”

“Oh, uh.” Lucinda looks to where Photo is sprawled on her sleeping bag, eyes still closed, not asleep but certainly not awake. “Of course. When do you want to leave?”

“Give me just a bit to get all my things together, and then I'll be ready to go.” Siri tips her face up, smiles at Lucinda. Lucinda catches herself smiling back, nods. “We shouldn’t need to be out for more than a few hours, I’m just running a test batch first, to make sure I can actually craft healing powder and poultices with my current equipment and supplies, so it’s not like I need much of anything.”

“I’ll go get Photo moving.” Lucinda slings her gun over her shoulder, sighs, heads toward Photo. “Hey, Twist,” she calls, halfway across the camp. “Me and Siri and Photo are headed out, you’re in charge until I get back. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Got it,” Twist calls back, raises one hand, without looking up, to give a thumbs up.


	15. Chapter 15

**CONTENT WARNING: Violence, bloodless torture**

 

The gunshot misses Lucinda by a good distance, but she hits the ground immediately. Photo flops down too, throwing her camera to the side so it doesn’t get crushed. Siri half-crouches, tucks her hands around the back of her head, splays her elbows.

“Fuck,” Lucinda growls, tries to get her rifle. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.” She swings her rifle around, gets herself up on her knees. She scans the horizon, holds one hand out, back toward Siri and Photo. “Both of you, give me any weapon you have.” 

“Why?” Photo asks, tightens her hands around the scrubgrass she landed on. There isn’t much cover, but the cactuses, the creosote, the scrubgrass is enough to hide them for now, though their location is obviously known.

“Were you born this bloodthirsty, and you’ve been hiding it all this time?” Lucinda asks. “It’s plausible deniability, if neither of you have weapons. If it’s who I think it is, we won’t be able to fight them off, and you’re both shit with weapons anyway.” She sights down her rifle, back in the direction of the gunshots’ origin. “Then I’m the only one who could have killed someone.” She fires a single shot, and everything is silent for a long half second as their ears ring.

“Who is it?” Photo asks.

“Rangers,” Lucinda replies. “And give me any weapons you have, right now. They’re closing fast.”

“Yeah, but then we won’t be able to defend-”

“Photo!” Lucinda snaps her fingers, holds her palm out. Photo places her knife in Lucinda’s palm, looks away. “Siri? You have anything?”

“My scalpel in my bag,” she replies, voice small. She collapses back, off her toes and onto her butt. Keeps her hands on the back of her head, her eyes closed, her breathing too regular.

“Medical equipment, then. Leave it there.” Lucinda rises on one knee, aims again. Takes another shot and drops back down quickly before there’s a return shot. “Stay here, I’m going to--” She hauls herself up again, though she stay half-hunched. Runs toward the origin of the gunshots, though she only gets thirty feet before she hits the ground again, and five shots ringing out.

“There are five of them,” Photo whispers to Siri. “Why are there so many?”

“Because they’re afraid of Lucy,” Siri whispers back. “You know what happened with the last ranger squad.”

“Oh,” Photo whispers back. She inches closer to Siri, and Siri scooches over until her thigh presses to Photo’s side. Photo presses her chin into the back of her hand. “What’s going to happen?”

“Either Lucinda gets shot and this is all over, or she kills them all somehow and they send more next time, or we get captured and taken in.”

“What happens if we get taken-”

“Don’t move.”

Siri hunches down more, sucks a breath in and holds it behind her teeth.

“Don’t shoot me,” she begs. “Please, please, I’m a noncombatant, I’m a doctor, not even a very good one, please, don’t--don’t shoot me, I’m-”

“Quiet,” the ranger behind them--how did Lucinda miss him? Where did he come from?--says.

“I’m a doctor,” Siri chokes out, panic rising in her throat. “I’ve never killed anyone, please don’t shoot me.”

“I said _quiet_ ,” the ranger snaps again. Siri whimpers and goes silent, tucks herself smaller. “Both of you, stand up.”

There are more gunshots in the distance, and the ranger whistles three tones, up and down.

“Up,” he says again, and Siri and Photo scramble to their feet. Siri tugs her bag around in front of her and shields it with her arms.

“Can I get my camera?” Photo asks.

“Give it to me,” the ranger replies. “You can have it after we’re certain it’s not a weapon.”

“Thank you,” Photo replies, goes to pick up her camera. She hands it to the ranger.

“You too, hand over the bag,” the ranger says, points to Siri’s bag. She unloops it from her shoulder and passes it over, tucks her arms across her chest once it’s gone.

There are four more gunshots, and then a three-tone whistle.

“They've got your friend, then.”

“No!” Photo bursts out. “They can’t! The Boss is too-”

“Lucy knows what’s good for her,” Siri replies. Her hands tighten on her shirt, her sweating palms wrinkling the fabric. “Where are you taking us?” she asks the ranger.

“You’ll see,” he replies.

They walk toward the gunshots’ origin.

Lucinda is sitting on the ground, disarmed, her hands on the back of her head. Her mouth is pressed into a thin line, her scarf and coat and armor and sunglasses stripped away, leaving her small and fragile in just her t-shirt and pants and boots, her legs stretched out in front of herself. She has three rangers behind her, their guns drawn. One ranger lies dead on the ground, blood pooling around him, half of his shoulder missing from where the bullet tore through him.

“We have some questions for you, back at base,” the lead ranger says. “You, on the ground--on your feet.”

Lucinda stands, slowly, carefully, not removing her hands from the back of her head.

“They’re both noncombatants,” she says, nods at Siri and Photo. “The tall one is our doctor, and the short one is fifteen years old. All she has is a camera.”

“Right, definitely,” the head ranger replies. “We’ve seen what you folks do to teenagers.”

“They are noncombatants,” Lucinda repeats. “Shit, the Doc’s held a gun all of once in her fucking life and she wasn't any good at it.”

“Quiet,” the lead ranger replies. “Hands behind your back.”

“I’m the only one you want, let them go.”

“I don’t think so.” The head ranger sighs, grimaces. “Now put your hands behind your back.”

Lucinda lowers her hands, twists them behind her back so her wrists are pressed together.

“They are noncombatants.” She stares straight ahead, past Siri and Photo, through the ranger behind them, face set and eyes blank.

“They're Legion,” the head ranger sighs. “And if you’re Legion, we bring you in.”

Lucinda goes first, marches in front of the rangers. She has two guards on her. Siri and Photo are next, their hands left loose after they’re checked over for weapons, two more rangers behind them--one with his gun drawn, the other talking into a hand-held radio, warning his station that they're bringing in three prisoners.

***

They’re locked in cells, at the base. There’s a concrete wall around it, a watchtower on top of the squat adobe building. There’s a water pump, out in the western courtyard, that Siri can see out their cell window if she stands on tiptoe.

They took their coats and armor, left Siri in her tank top and cargo pants, Photo in her dress. Lucinda they took even that from her, gave her a plain jumpsuit. She bared her teeth, as she changed into it, kept her eyes on the ranger supervising. He turned red as she stripped, had to look away as she buttoned herself.

Photo had giggled to herself as she watched; Siri wedged herself into a corner until the men had left the cellblock.

“Lucy? Are you alright?” Siri calls across the room when the door closes.

“I’m fine,” Lucy bites out. “I am fine, and I’ll _be_ fine, unless something goes seriously tits-up in the next week.”

“Is anyone coming for us?” Photo asks.

Lucinda sighs. She’s wedged herself into a corner, too, out of sight of the door and out of sight of Siri and Photo’s cell.

“No,” Lucinda says, decisive. Siri turns it over in her head--the door to the front office is closed, they shouldn’t be able to hear back here--except there's a camera up on the wall. There is no light on it but--she was never good at electronics. Her mother was, but she didn’t inherit the skill. Lucinda would probably have noticed it, she’s observant enough, so is she lying to throw them off? Is she telling the truth? Siri tries to listen, tries to hear Lucinda’s body language--her tells are obvious, once you know them, but they’re hard to identify when she’s invisible behind a wall.

“Then what are we going to do?” Photo asks.

“You two,” her voice starts soft, affectionate, “will, hopefully, be sent east.” Her voice hardens again. “Rehabilitated. Given jobs or training, I don’t know. Live productive lives under the NCR.” She shifts, the sound of canvas on concrete, canvas on skin.

“What about you?” Photo asks. Siri presses her hands over her ears, knows Lucinda’s answer in content, if not the exact words.

“They’ll try me for war crimes, or they won’t, and I’ll end up dead or imprisoned for life.” She shifts in place, the sound of canvas on canvas on concrete, “But you’ll be away from this, for a while.”

“What's the NCR like?” Photo asks.

“Leave it, Photo,” Siri sighs. Can feel the anxiety pressing out behind her ribs, folds her arms tighter across her chest, tries to reassure herself. “Ask one of the rangers.”

“But the Boss has actually _been_ there, and I like her more,” Photo replies. “And why are you sitting on the floor? There’s a bed.”

“Shit, you guys have beds?” Lucinda laughs. “I’ve got a plastic bucket in one corner that smells like piss.”

“We have one of those too,” Siri agrees. “But we have two benches chained to the wall too.”

“Awww man,” Lucinda laughs.

***

One of the subordinate rangers brings them food at sundown. He pushes two cardboard boxes through the bars of Siri and Photo’s cell, and one through the bars of Lucinda’s.

“Eat,” he says, and leaves.

Photo rips one of the boxes open, sets into the sandwich inside, scarfs down the apple and the potato chips too, gulps the bottled water.

Siri does the same, more sedately. Better than Legion food, though it’s not better than their dinners most nights. She misses the gecko steaks she used to hate, the fried banana yucca, the way Runner would slice up xander root and fry it with powdered jalapeño, or the way Twist and Lucinda sliced the feral brahmin they hunted down into steaks, or the way Watch can--and does--pick out the best fruit from any variety.

Lucinda uncaps her water bottle, drinks three gulps, and sets it aside. Shoves the cardboard box back out of the cell with her toes, goes back to watching the door.

When the ranger comes back, SIri and Photo push their trash out of the cell, retreat to the back wall. Lucinda stays sitting at the front of her cell, eyes fixed on the ranger.

“You didn't eat,” he says, looks down at her still-full cardboard box.

“I’m not hungry,” Lucinda replies.

“We aren’t going to feed you again until dawn.”

“I’m not hungry,” Lucinda repeats.

“Fine.” He scoops up the box. “Give me your bottle of water, you’re not allowed to keep it.” 

Lucinda takes her water bottle and chugs what’s left of it before rolling it out the bars of the cell. The ranger picks it up, and carries the leftovers out of the room.

“You need to eat,” Siri tells her, once he’s gone. “The food isn’t bad, and they’re obligated to feed you at least twice a day.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat,” Siri says again.

Lucinda stays quiet.

***

Breakfast is the same food--a sandwich, an apple, a bag of chips, a bottle of water. Siri and Photo eat it--Photo eats slower, this time, drags it out--and Lucinda doesn’t--gulps down her whole bottle of water, though, and sets it next to her full cardboard box.

“You need to eat,” Siri tells her again, leaning against the bars and craning her neck so she can see Lucinda where she’s sitting on the floor.

Lucinda doesn’t say anything, but she moves further back in her cell, where Siri can’t see her.

***

“You going to eat this time?”

The head ranger brought this evening, this time, slid Siri and Photo their cardboard boxes. There's a cookie in it, this time, its plastic label proclaiming PEANUT BUTTER GOODNESS!!! with a smiley face. He’s standing in front of Lucinda’s cell, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed and one knee bent so his toetips rest on the floor. Lucinda’s box of food is on the floor in front of him. She stands against the back wall of her cell, arms crossed.

“I want to see how far you’ll go,” Lucinda replies. Siri lays on her bunk, curled on her side, studying the speckles in the adobe. Listening, imagining Lucinda’s face. Eyes narrowed, teeth bared, nose wrinkled, disgusted, challenging him.

“That’s alright, then,” the head ranger murmurs. “You get fifteen minutes and I’ll be back for your trash.”

He leaves, and Siri counts fifteen minutes to the second--nine hundred ticks on the overloud clock in the other room--from when the door closes until it opens again. Even Photo stays quiet, over on her own bunk.

Siri can hear Lucinda drink, across the room. She has to be hungry, by now. Why isn’t she eating? Does she think they’re going to release her if she doesn’t eat?

 _They’ll give me a trial, or they won’t_ , Lucinda had said. _And I’ll end up dead._

The head ranger takes the still-full cardboard box and the now-empty water bottle. He stands against the wall, watches Lucinda for a few moments. Siri imagines Lucinda watches back, stares him down.

“We’ll be questioning you all tomorrow,” he says. “You, girl.” He turns, points at Photo. “We’ll be talking to you first.”

Photo nods, eyes wide. As soon as the head ranger leaves the room, Lucinda speaks up from her cell.

“Tell the truth. Tell them everything. Don’t lie, don’t tell them I’m a saint. Tell them I’m the courier from New Vegas, tell them I killed the president, tell them I killed Oliver and Hsu and Hanlon and Polatli. Tell them I killed the ranger stations, painted the bull onto their tents and walls in their rangers’ blood. Tell them what happened with the towns. Tell them to develop the film in your camera if they don’t believe you.”

Siri can hear the bared teeth in Lucinda’s words.

“Tell them the truth?” Photo says, voice small.

“Tell them the truth,” Lucinda repeats.

“Okay,” Photo says, presses her hands together between her knees.

“Same goes to you, SIri.”

Siri grunts.

***

“She’s not eating.”

The door is propped open, to let some of the night air through the building. it helps, gives some reprieve from the desert sun

“Then she doesn’t eat,” the head ranger replies.

“That’s--sir, that’s illegal. There are cameras, they’d know if we--”

“The cameras in the cellblock haven’t worked for months, and none of us know how to fix them,” the head ranger replies. There’s a clatter of a pencil into a ceramic cup. “She’s on a hunger strike, or something, and we don’t have the equipment to force feed her.”

“Sir, I don’t--”

“Then I'll do it,” the head ranger growls. Siri feels her gut clench, rolls over on her bed, cranes her neck to see if Lucinda is still awake.

She is.

Lucinda meets her eyes for a long second, then looks away.


	16. Chapter 16

**CONTENT WARNING: Offscreen torture**

 

The ranger brings Siri and Photo breakfast, pushes their cardboard boxes through the bars. He leaves without saying anything to Lucinda, doesn't even look at her. He comes back fifteen minutes later, takes Photo from the cell and the garbage from the floor.

***

Photo comes back, her hands shaking. Siri runs her hand through Photo’s hair.

“You,” the head ranger says, when he comes back ten minutes later, points at Siri. “You’re up.”

He unlocks the cell, and Siri takes a step out. He locks the cell behind her, and uncomfortably final _click_ of the key in the lock.

Siri looks over at Lucinda. She’s propped against the wall, eyebrows neutral but her eyes narrowed as the ranger marches Siri out of the room.

***

She cries. She can’t stop it, as the stress of the last three days--the last three and a half _years_ \--catches up all at once. One of the rangers offers her a handkerchief, then a second handkerchief as questioning continues. The one with the holotape recorder doesn’t react.

She tells them what happened in the Mojave, what she saw, what Lucinda told her. Tells the truth about the towns, about their standing orders. She cries through the whole thing, tries to explain that she wasn’t born Legion, that the Legion took that from her, but the rangers steer her back on topic. They take her back to her cell, afterwards, leave her to stew as they immediately take Lucinda from her cell.

They handcuff her, frogmarch her out to the interrogation room. Siri tries to muffle her own whimpering into her hand, tries to listen for what Lucinda says.

Lucinda is gone a long time, and Siri can’t hear her through the adobe walls.

When she comes back, she settles back on the floor, propped against the wall, to watch the door. Her eyebrows are drawn down, now, mouth pulled into a scowl.

“Lucy?” Siri asks, soft.

“They’re going to put you two in a work program, until they can get this whole case processed. The fact that we’re all, technically, Legion property complicates matters.”

“What are they going to do with you?” Siri asks.

“I’m going to sit right here until they decide to kill me,” Lucinda replies. Tucks her legs up, folds them together, rests her hands in her shins. Says nothing else.

***

The rangers don’t even bring Lucinda water, leave her alone in her cell. Siri tries to bring it up, tries to argue for humane treatment, but the ranger acts like he can’t hear her.

Lucinda can’t look at her, today.

The next day dawns the same, and Siri is worried. Four days without food, and two without water--if this goes on much longer--

***

Day five is the same.

Lucinda hums, in her cell. Siri recognizes the song, remembers the words, sort of, about the river and the birds and how she’ll be there soon. Hums it all day, dawn to dusk, until Siri catches herself humming along.

Lucinda’s raven clatters onto her windowsill, sometime in the late evening, and Lucinda murmurs something at it before it flaps away with a croak.

“Lucy?” Siri asks, after the bird has gone.

“Yeah?”

“How are you doing?”

“I’m thirsty,” Lucinda replies. “Thirsty as hell.”

“Do you want some of my water, next mealtime?”

“I--”

Lucinda stops there.

“Don’t stress yourself over it,” she finally says.

“You not drinking is stressing me out more,” Siri replies. Lucinda is already listless, barely moves--it’s one thing to conserve energy, another to sit so still the way she does. Only heard her use the bucket once in the last four days, sicne she stopped drinking. “I’ll give you one of mine next time.” 

Lucinda is silent.

***

Day six dawns pink and cool. Breakfast is still sandwiches and potato chips and apples and a bottle of water. Lucinda stays sitting on the floor, glares at the head ranger who ignores her. Siri rolls her bottle of water across the floor, once he leaves, and Lucinda drinks half of it, rolls it back.

A patrol gets sent out, finally comes back with news of where their encampment used to be. Siri hears Lucinda sigh, when the ranger says they haven’t found a new encampment, but that they must have moved recently.

Siri rolls her bottle of water across the floor, toward Lucinda, once the head ranger leaves. Lucinda rolls it back, doesn’t look at Siri.

The raven is back on Lucinda’s windowsill, cawing and fluttering. The rangers either don’t know it's there, or are ignoring it.

Day six closes the same as the others.

Day seven opens red and dusty.

***

It’s midday, hot, slow, empty, the same as the desert always is. The lone ceiling fan in the office spins and groans, does nothing to alleviate the heat. The rangers play cards, or they drink from the water fountain; two of them sneak off behind the building to suck each others’ dicks. 

Photo lays on her bunk, feet tucked against her butt, knees toward the ceiling. Her dress is starting to fray at the hem, and she’s been fiddling with it.

Siri lays on her stomach on her bunk, feet dangling off the end, her forehead pressed to her arms, breathing in the metal reek of the bench. Counts ticks on the overloud clock, again, counts numbers for numbers.

Lucinda leans against the side wall of her cell, so she can watch the door, one leg propped against the bars and the other stretched out flat on the floor. Keeps her fingers curled into the grimy canvas of her jumpsuit.

The raven sits on the windowsill, croaks and calls and summons up knocking noises from the back of her throat.

The gunshot outside breaks the stillness, makes Photo jump from her bed, press herself to the bars, makes Siri roll off her bed, press herself into a corner with her hands over her head, makes Lucinda jump to her feet, hold herself up with the bars of her cell. Makes the rangers yell, grab for weapons, flood out the doors.

Outside, through the windows through the doors, comes Dredge’s high shriek, Twist’s lower, rougher answer, Drummer’s whoop. A dozen more gunshots, yelling, Tooth’s footsteps in the doorway as the air flickers around her. She has a key, unlocks the cells and opens the doors.

“Doc, Photo, over to the interrogation room. It’s safe. Boss, I have your gun and your coat.”

“Too dehydrated,” Lucinda replies. “Shoot a couple of the bastards for me. Save the head ranger, you can kill the rest.”

The gunshots stop, and after a pause, a single shot is fired, and then silence reigns again.

“Hopefully Twist knew what you wanted,” Tooth replies, offers Lucinda her shoulder. Lucinda leans on her.

Twist, Dredge, and Drummer all walk in, marching three rangers in front of them. Burn follows after a moment, walking the head ranger in front of her.

“This is who’s left, Boss,” Dredge says. “What d’you want us to do with them?”

“Lock them in the front cells,” Lucinda replies. “The three rangers. Him,” she points at the head ranger, “Tie him spread to the bars, loop a noose over the rafters so his head is held in place. Don’t hang him. Leave him there while I get my things.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Dredge replies, nods, urges her ranger forward and into the cellbock. She locks him in Siri and Photo’s old cell. Tooth unlocks the facing cell, and Twist and Drummer walk their rangers into it.

“You caught that one?” Lucinda asks, nods at the head ranger--gagged by Tooth’s borrowed bandana--and raises her eyebrows at Burn.

“Yes’m,” Burn agrees.

“Good on you,” Lucinda says, smiles. “Now you get all that sorted, I’m going to sit down.”

She hobbles to the desk, flops into the rolly chair.

Siri brings Lucinda a bottle of water, and Drummer goes out to count bodies. She lets Lucinda’s raven in, while she’s at it. The bird flies to the desk, her claws skittering on the hard surface. She caws at Lucinda, who makes disapproving noises back.

Runner is the one who brings Lucinda her coat and gun. Lucinda digs the canvas roll of jerky out of one her pockets, weighs it. Some of it is missing, but serves the rangers right.

“Haul any corpses into the courtyard, hang them up or crucify them. Make the Legion unmistakable, though.” She bares her teeth, and even though the women hesitate, they nod.

“Yes ma’am,” Runner agrees, salutes. The other women follow her out, except for Burn and Drummer, who stay in the back, tying the head ranger in place, and Siri and Photo, who sit on the sofa in the corner.

Lucinda drains the bottle of water, reaches for another one. Chews up a strip of jerky and spits it onto the table for her bird, then gets another piece for herself. Swallows without chewing it completely, gets three more and chews them all at once as she watches her bird do the same with the half-chewed jerky.

“Photo, do you think you can find any knives they have around here?” She pulls open the top drawer of the desk, finds a combat knife there, lays it on the desk, flattens her palm across its handle to inspect her knuckles.

“Yes ma’am,” Photo agrees, settles her camera on the sofa along with her armor.

“Thank you, Photo,” she says, smiles. The girl disappears into the supply closet.

“What are you going to do, Lucy?” Siri asks, tucks her legs up onto the sofa. She has her coat draped over her lap, her medical bag sitting on the floor in front of her.

“I'm going to teach him and the rest of the rangers a lesson.”

“Lucy, what are you--”

“Do you _want_ to know, Siri?” Lucinda snaps. She watches her bird, clicking across the table, picking up a pencil from the coffee mug that says **#1 DAD!!!!** and dropping it, before picking it up, and dropping it and picking it up, and dropping it off the table so she has to flutter to the floor to pick it up again.

Siri looks away, doesn’t answer. Lucinda flicks her eyes up at Siri, then looks away again.

“When Photo gets back, I want you to take her back to camp. Take Dredge with you, her kid has to be getting hungry by now.”

“Understood,” Siri agrees.

“And I’m sorry you ended up wrapped up in this.”

“I’ll be back once I deliver Photo to camp. Someone might need medical attention, if they’re erecting crosses or nailing bodies up.”

“We can handle it. You just--look after Birdy and Photo back at camp. Make sure they don’t come back here and see _this_.”

“I am not their babysitter,” Siri replies. “If any of you needs medical attention--”

“We can handle it until we get back to you, we aren’t _that_ fragile, Siri.” Lucinda sighs, takes another drink. “You cried after your interview, you panicked when someone drew a gun on you, you've consistently demonstrated this sort of reaction to violence-induced stress, and,” Lucinda spins in her chair to look Siri in the eye. “With as much as I like you, I don’t want you around to suffer through that any more than absolutely necessary.”

Siri snorts, but looks away.

“You’re starving, I want you to eat two of those box lunches before I see you again. Especially the cookies--eat all of the cookies out of all the lunches. You need the calories. A gallon jug of water, at least. More, since they have it. Refill it out of the pump. You’ll be fine once you pee clear. You need three meals a day for the next week, at least, and something substantial for each.” Siri folds her arms, presses her lips tight.

“I know, I know,” Lucinda agrees, reaches for another bottle of water. Looks between the front door and the storeroom door, eyes narrowed. “I will, it’s okay, you’re not _my_ babysitter either.”

Photo comes trotting back, then, with an ammo case full of knives. She sets it on the desk, folds her hands behind her back.

“Thank you,” Lucinda says, smiles at her. “The Doc is going to take you back to camp while i finish some business here.”

“Oh.” Photo stays smiling, but now it’s fake, and she turns to look at Siri. Siri unfolds and pulls on her coat.

“The rest of us here will be along tonight,” Lucinda continues. “And if we’re not back by dawn, don’t come looking.”

“Yes’m,” Photo agrees.

“Thank you, Photo.” Lucinda whistles, and her bird croaks from her place on the floor. “Siri?”

Siri beckons Photo over, and they head out the door. Twist and Dredge laugh about something, out in the courtyard.

Drummer pops her head out of the cellblock door.

“We got him tied, Boss,” she says. “If you wanna...wanna do your thing.” Drummer smiles, wide and crooked. Her eyes dart, though, and she can’t look at Lucinda’s face.

“Thanks, Drummer. You and Burn go out and join the rest of the women.”

“You got it, Boss,” Drummer agrees. She calls back to Burn, who follows her out into the courtyard.

Lucinda stand, looks through the ammo case. How many knives does she need? Four? Something like that. She grabs five. Goes and gets her bowie knife and machete out of the weapons locker, too. Bowie is shit for skinning an animal for dressing, but if all she needs it for is _pain_ it’ll do just fine.

She turns back to the cellblock and steps through the door. Smiles at the head ranger, tied so his arms and legs are spread.

“So you thought you could starve me out,” she bites out, grins. Walks closer. Kicks the door closed behind her without looking back.

“What do you want?” the head ranger snarls. “If you want your freedom you can go.”

“I have my freedom,” Lucinda replies, drops her voice into her chest, lets the words roll out of her throat. “But you pissed me off.” She drops the knives on the floor, turns around. “I had a better idea. I’ll be right back.” She turns and leaves, and there’s some clattering in a supply closet. She comes back with a hammer, grinning.

***

Dredge hears the screaming, the beginning, mostly doesn't want to know. What the Boss does is what the Boss does, and it ain’t her problem. Boss follows her own rules, what she does here won’t be a problem for the team, most likely.

She goes around back, looking for wood. They’re hanging up dead bodies on things that look kinda like crosses, so they need to make something that looks kinda like a cross.

Back here, along with the screaming and the beginning and the sobbing and the low, unintelligible hiss of the Boss’s voice, she can hear the dull thud of metal on leather, the _chink_ of metal into adobe.

She doesn’t want to know.

***

Lucinda’s only in the cellblock for an hour, comes out covered in blood and sagging. She sits against the wall of the building, in the shade, her hat tilted to offer maximum shade. She has a pile of water bottles next to her, spends the afternoon drinking and eating. The women come and sit next to her, in rotation. No one takes the afternoon off, but they don’t work the whole time, either. Get a break in the worst part of the day, lay on the cool dirt in the shade and sweat it out.

The sun is going down by the time they finish rigging the bodies, by the time Lucinda finds a can of paint and paints the bull across the front wall and across the front of the building, by the time they help her shove the desk out of the way so she can paint it across the floor of the office.

The women laugh and joke, shove each other and toss friendly insults, as the walk back to camp.

Lucinda trails behind.

Siri meets them, most of the way to camp. The other women greet her, and Siri smiles at their hellos. They let Siri through, and she walks next to Lucinda the rest of the way back to camp.

“I’m not tired,” Lucinda says, later, as the women start to shuffle toward their bedrolls. “I’ll take first watch.”

“Sure thing, Boss,” Dredge agrees, waves Watch down off her post.

“I'll stay up with you,” Siri offers.

“Thanks,” Lucinda sighs.

“Drummer’ll take third,” Dredge says, waves the woman over. “But we shouldn’t have a problem, tonight.”

“Hopefully not,” Lucinda agrees.

***

“Siri?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I--?” she waves at the space between them. Siri looks down at the ground, then holds one arm out and back. Lucinda smiles as she tucks herself against Siri’s side. Siri wraps her arm around Lucinda’s shoulders.

“Have you been drinking water?”

“Peed like a gallon today. I’ve been drinking.”

“Good.”

They sit in silence, watch the sky turn bluer and bluer, fade into black.

“How are you?” Siri asks, voice low in her chest.

“Not any worse than I have been,” Lucinda replies.

“That’s not an answer.”

“I've never given you an answer to that question,” Lucinda replies, snort-laughs. “I haven’t given anyone an answer to that question in fourteen fucking years.”

Siri _hmm_ s.

“Will you be alright, do you think?” she asks, after a moment.

“Yeah,” Lucinda agrees. “Probably.”

***

“Let’s--let’s take a week off or so,” Lucinda suggests at breakfast. Twist nods, and so does Dredge. The nod goes around the whole circle.

“Could use some time off, fuck around some without worrying about life or death.” Dredge forks her potato again, turns it over. “Be nice to relax a while.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Twist offers. 

“It’s decided, then.” Lucinda nods. “We'll head back to the Legion town, and we’ll rest for a week, and then we’ll go back to our work.”

***

Twist is the only one still awake, as the sun goes down, the rest of the team huddled in their lean-to tents.

“Why did you rescue me? I thought you hated me,” Lucinda says, prods at the fire with a stick.

“Didn’t come to rescue you,” Twist replies, voice low. “Came for the Doc and for Photo. You’re collateral.”

Lucinda _hmphs_ , nods, stares into the fire.

“Thanks, anyway,” she says. “I appreciate not being left to rot.”

“Most folks do,” Twist agrees. “You're off watch, if you wanna go sleep.”

“Yeah,” Lucinda agrees, lights a cigarette, retreats out of the circle of firelight, toward her sleeping bag, tip of her cigarette glowing in the dark.


	17. Chapter 17

Owl-Eagle doesn’t say a word, strides up, legs swallowing ground, face set like stone.

She draws her hand back, slaps Lucinda across the face, sends her staggering from the force. Lucinda bristles, draws her shoulders back, bares her teeth as she lifts her hand to her cheek.

“Shrike!” Owl-Eagle hisses. “I thought the men spoke of your killing to defame you, but now your women come to me telling me the same stories of your _butchery_.”

“I had to,” Lucinda replies, lets her shoulders slump, keeps her body low. Owl-Eagle won’t slap her again, she knows that, but it’s respect. Her cheek is wet, and when she pulls her fingers away, they’re red. Not her blood. Something else’s.

“Kill him, perhaps, but butcher him while he still breathed?” Owl-Eagle takes another step forward, grabs her by the chin. Hauls her upright. She’s taller, even as old as she is. She doesn’t smudge the handprint when she grabs. Lucinda can still feel the sting. “You do us no credit, butcher-bird.”

“I had to,” Lucinda repeats. Her voice jumps in pitch--not a whine, not a squeak, but maybe something close to tears.

“No you didn’t,” Owl-Eagle replies, voice softening. “You didn’t and you know it, Shrike. Make your apologies, maybe you can re-earn your name.” She lets go of Lucinda chin, then, lets her look away. Lucinda takes a step back. Looks away. Crosses her right arm across her body, grips her left elbow.

“There’s more left to do,” she says, quiet.

“Then you’ll keep your bird, until you do your penance.”

“Thank you.”

“You’ll get yourself killed, Little Bird.” Owl-Eagle reaches over, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Still doesn't disturb the handprint. “And I hope it’s not soon, but I’ve seen what people like you come to.”

Lucinda doesn’t respond, keeps her eyes averted, studies the adobe brickwork.

“Go back to your girl.” Owl-Eagle pauses. “And tell her what the handprint is. You know your history, and she should know you.”

“Yes’m,” Lucinda agrees, tucks her hands behind her back, turns to leave. Owl-Eagle watches her go.

Owl-Eagle hears the crying, muffled into a leather sleeve. She’s ashamed, then. Good. She should be.

She hears the crying stop soon. Girl can wash the handprint off, come morning, because that’s the tradition. Until then, she should wear it like the shame it is. Let her new tribe ask. Let them know what their punishment will be, if they’re tribe. Let them see their Raven cry.

***

“Boss, what’s--” Dredge starts, but Lucinda keeps walking, doesn’t stop, as the squad turns from their campfires, their books, their mending and cooking and dice-throwing to watch her pass. They stay quiet, watch her. She walks out of the firelight, into the dark. Her raven follows her, croaks.

***

“Lucy.”

Lucinda doesn’t respond, stays sitting death-still, her back to the fire.

“It’s me, can I sit out here with you?”

“Yeah.” It’s quick, quiet, barely an acknowledgement.

“Can I touch you?” Siri asks, sinks to her knees next to Lucinda, leans back on her hands, then shifts until she can stretch her legs out.

“No,” Lucinda replies.

“Do you want to talk?”

“No.”

Lucinda’s bird hops over to Siri, then up onto her thigh, studies her with a critical eye before hopping back down to go dig through Lucinda's pockets.

“Is there anything I can do, or you want me to do?” Siri asks, sits forward to study the side of Lucinda’s face.

“No,” Lucinda says, voice soft and breaking.

“If I stay here until we go to bed, is that alright?”

“Yeah,” Lucinda agrees, ducks her head, rubs at one eye with her fingers. “Yeah.”

***

Lucinda wipes the blood off her face with a damp cloth, as the sun breaks. She had shuffled into the kitchen, siri close behind, well after the rest of the team had turned in for the night. Watch--sitting in the doorway, legs stretched toward the fire barrel--hadn’t even looked at her, looked through her instead, when she walked into her line of sight. Lucinda hadn’t acknowledged her either, hadn’t even bothered to keep her left cheek turned away. The handprint had smeared, had tear tracks through it, had started flaking off.

Siri had bundled herself into her sleeping bag, wriggled off the mattress, half-heartedly kicked Lucinda’s bag over without looking at her. Now, she's pretending to sleep, at least, breathing slow and deep and even, back of her throat catching in a pre-snore.

Lucinda climbs into her sleeping bag, burrows into it as much as she can--grabbed her other blankets, tucks them into the bag until she's cocooned, almost so tight and tangled she can’t move. Breathes the smell of the blankets--dust and smoke mostly, an undernote of sweat, heavy-metal tang of blood, the very last hints of the soap they used when they last did laundry.

“Siri?” she whispers, buries her name in the blanket. Siri doesn't respond, continues to almost-snore. "You awake?” she asks, and there's still no response. She squirms off the mattress, until she’s back-to-front with Siri, pauses again to listen. Siri snorts once, resumes snoring. “Are you awake?” she asks again, voice muffled in layers of blankets and sleeping bags, between Siri’s shoulderblades. “I don't want to be a shrike," she whispers. “I don’t.”

Siri snores, once, twice, three times, and a log in Watch's fire barrel pops.

***

"Hey, uh, Boss." Dredge leans heavy on the doorframe, rocks up on her toes and back on her heels. Doesn't look at Lucinda. "Our chairs are missing."

"Your what?" Lucinda asks, rolls over from where she's curled on her mattress--hair undone, circles under her eyes, half her blankets now unbundled from her sleeping bag and loose on the floor.

"The chairs," Drede repeats. "The ugly white plastic ones we been using?"

"Where did they go?" Lucinda asks, sits up and fights her way loose from her bag.

"Don't know," Dredge replies. "Runner dozed off on watch last night, across the front door, so ain't no one came inside the house, but the chairs are gone."

"Runner fell asleep, and someone stole the chairs," Lucinda repeats.

"That's about it, yeah," Dredge agrees.

"And you're sure its not Burn and Birdy and Drummer and Runner again?"

"That'd make it Burn and Birdy, and Birdy seemed awful upset over there being no chairs. Drummer was too, so I ain't got my money on them." Dredge steps into the doorway proper, folds her hands behind her back. "Ain't nowhere to hide 'em here either. We checked the old shed in the back, and around the other side of the hedge, and everything. Can't find 'em anywhere."

"Alright," Lucinda sighs, digs herself the rest of the way out of her sleeping bag. She pulls her shirt tight, tries to smooth out the wrinkles, fails. She hunches her shoulders, shoves her hands in her pockets, and sighs. "I'll see who I can find and what I can do."

Dredge nods, hesitates a moment.

"I ain't gonna ask about last night, but--you alright? You need us to pick up some slack somewhere while you get back to being alright?"

Lucinda stares at Dredge for a long moment.

"Just keep up your jobs. That's all, I'll handle it," she finally says. "You don't need to worry."

"Sure thing, Boss," Dredge agrees, and disappears back out to the front porch, where some of the others are sitting with their legs dangling of the edge, feet in the remnants of the front marigolds.

Lucinda sighs, studies her bird--she's still asleep in the nest, puffed up and warm. She doesn't know. She doesn't understand.

Lucinda chews up two strips of jerky, spits them into her hand, leaves them on the table next to the nest.

***

Her bird catches up in the requisitions tent.

"We want the chairs back," Lucinda growls, crosses her arms. Today's requisition officer is a brick house of a man, six feet tall and all muscle. He looks uninterested, barely looks up from his tally sheet.

"We don't have any 'deck chairs' in our logs, and even if we did I don't see why you have a need for them, versus the officers who are doing _much_ more work."

"We have two women with young infants," Lucinda replies. "They need somewhere comfortable to sit and nurse."

"Haven't women been sitting on the ground to do that since forever?" He snorts. "They'll be fine."

"No, they won't," Lucinda snaps, curls her hands into fists. "I want chairs, at least two, preferably eleven, and I want them _now_." Her bird flutters up onto her shoulder, croaks, and she steps forward, uncrosses her arms, tips down her chin. "Just get us some _fucking_ chairs."

The officer licks his thumb turns the page, continues counting tallies.

"No can do," he replies, and proceeds to ignore her.

***

Birdy, Photo, Dredge, and Twist are over at Owl-Eagle's adobe, Dredge laughing long and loud at something Owl-Eagle said too quietly to carry. Watch and Tooth are up on the roof, again, and Tooth nods as Lucinda rounds the nearest building and comes into view. Burn, Drummer, and Runner are circled around the firepit, Burn and Runner laughing, Drummer napping with her head in Burn's lap and her feet in Runner's. Siri sits on the steps, textbook open in her lap, to a chapter Lucinda could have sworn she read already.

Lucinda clicks her tongue, waves her fingers at her bird, and the bird hops down onto her arm.

"Siri, would you mind entertaining her for a bit?" she asks, leans down so her arm is next to Siri's shoulder. Siri looks up, brow furrowed.

"Where are you going?" she asks.

"I'll just be in the house, but I'm--just keep her here for fifteen minutes or so, please?"

"Of course," Siri murmurs, and the bird hops down onto her leg when she sets her book aside. Runner looks over at them, smiles, and runs her fingertips up the bottoms of Drummer's feet. Drummer jerks her legs away, grumbles, kicks her heels into Runner's thigh. Burn laughs.

Lucinda sheds her coat with a _flump_ in the entryway, next to the fire barrel, her scarf at the doorway to the kitchen. She pauses in the doorway, looks over the furniture in the room. She goes for the blankets and the sleeping bags, first, drags them out on top of her coat. The mattress comes next, gets leaned against the wall across from the doorway to the front room. The songbook is moved from the ugly linoleum table and placed gently on her coat. Her bird squawks, and Siri tries to gentle her around the other direction so she doesn't take off.

There's a full--or nearly full, the distinction doesn't matter, here and now, and _really_ won't matter in five minutes--set of dishes in one of the cupboards, pretty flowery china in delicate white and pink, covered in roses and twining vines. The Legion men never bothered to take it--too _pretty_ , too _pre-war_ , too _feminine_ \--and everyone on the team is so used to their tin plates none of them bothered to look for others. Lucinda slides a saucer off the top of the stack, holds it between two fingers as she sets the rest on one of the extra chairs against the back wall. She readjusts her grip on the saucer, once the stack is set down, so it sits in the curve between her first finger and her thumb.

She cocks her arm back, and throws as hard as she can.

***

"Do you feel better?" Siri asks, as Lucinda goes by with a flimsy towel full of shattered china pieces, all of them barely more than shards, if they're any more than dust.

"Yeah," Lucinda replies. "There are eleven chairs, right?"

"Yes," Siri agrees.

"Twist is strong, Drummer is strong, Runner is strong. You think we can carry eleven chairs between the four of us?"

"Take Tooth and Dredge, and you can do it probably."

"That's a lot of people for a stealth operation." Lucinda hums, studies the front yard for the best place to dump the shattered china. "And I'd really rather not use the stealth boys more than we absolutely have to."

"They can be quiet," Siri replies.

"And if we split." Lucinda nods, eyes no longer searching for a spot to dump the china, and now flicking between the women in the yard, Owl-Eagle's adobe, and the rest of the town. "Send Twist down the front since she's impossible to miss, filter the rest of us in behind her when no one is looking." Her grip on the dishtowel slackens, then tightens again. "You can let my bird go. No danger of me accidentally hitting her with a plate now."

"Is the floor clean?" Siri asks. "I'd rather not dig glass shards out of your feet for the next week."

"Clean enough." Lucinda shrugs. "You can sweep again if you want, I have some recon to do, I'll be back later."

***

Owl-Eagle sits out in front of her adobe, on the park bench Dredge and Birdy hauled over from the pile of garbage the legionaries dumped nearby. She's smoking, one cigarette after another, tapping them out into a warped plastic drinking glass. She's _watching_ , and Lucinda remembers the way she would _watch_ a long time ago--not the way Watch does, but sharper, meaner, weighing every possibility.

Lucinda doesn't look at her. Can't look at her, still, feels the weight of everything that's been said over the last few months: "you'll do us proud," "someday people will look at you and know you're ours," "the women look up to you," " _shrike_."

Dredge tips her chair back, taps her heels on the ground.

"We headed out soon?" she asks, looks at Lucinda with half-closed eyes.

"Yeah," Lucinda agrees, taps her fingers across the plastic slats. "I know our route to the next town, it shouldn't take us too long."

"Good exercise," Dredge murmurs, nods. "Round us all up?"

Lucinda shakes her head.

"I'll have Drummer do it. You sit there and appreciate your chairs we stole back."

"Can do, Boss!" Dredge agrees, with a salute and a grin.


	18. Chapter 18

**CW: Mild violence**

 

The girl staring back at her, from the other end of the barrel, is Watch's age.

She had come out swinging with a baseball bat, cracked Tooth good in the shoulder before Tooth had tackled her to ground and they had scuffled until the girl was disarmed.

She's on the young side of Watch's age. A year and a half older than Birdy, maybe. Young, still. Just old enough to call herself an adult.

Eagle, if she'd fight back like that against the Legion. Eagle, if the tribe was more than an old woman and a Shrike and maybe a handful of ghoul-Vultures a thousand miles away.

Her finger rests on the trigger. The girl pulled the wrong number. It's just business. This is what the Legion does--a town fights, a town dies. A town doesn't fight, a town goes to their slave pens quietly, then most of a town lives.

She hesitates. The girl's eyes are brown, wide, pupils small in the mid-afternoon sun, flyaway hair the color of dead grass dancing in the breeze, scuffed hands curled into fists at her sides.

She starts to pull the trigger--it's not very sensitive, has to pull it nearly all the way back before the gun fires--and hesitates just before it goes.

The girl is still looking her straight in the eye.

 _Was this necessary_ , Owl-Eagle hisses in her ear. _Or did you do this just to enjoy the power you have over another human being_?

Watch pushes her gun barrel down with one hand, steps in between her and the girl to push the barrel the rest of the way aside with her hip. Lucinda’s finger leaves the trigger as soon as Watch touches the barrel.

"We'll finish up here, Boss," Watch says, turns her head to speak into her shoulder. "You go talk to the Doc."

Lucinda nods, turns on her heels, strides away like she knows what she's doing.

Tooth's uneven footsteps come up behind her, stop next to Watch, and as soon as she rounds a building, is out of sight, there's a single gunshot, _boom_ , action cycle, _boom_ , action cycle, of Tooth's brush gun.

She presses a hand over her mouth, silences the pictures dancing behind her eyes, curls her toes in her boots, grips the stock of her rifle tighter. It's easier to not think about it. Always has been. Has always been easier to tune out the noise of everything when she has to do things like this. Easier to tune out the bad things than to have to live through them every time.

Owl-Eagle her taught her that one, when the Legion became inevitable.

Taught her to pack it all down, cram it into a mental box to open at some later day, when there was time, and safety, and someone who cared about more than her potential infants.

This is not that time.

She uncurls her toes, lets her grip go slack on her gun again, smooths her hand down the front of her armor.

Her bird flaps down off a roof to land on her shoulder.

***

Siri rigged up a shoulder brace, out of the ace bandage she has in her doctor's bag, and Tooth stops to prod at it once in a while, just to see if it holds. There's still a fleck of blood in her hair.

Watch sits even further from the fire than usual, runs her hands across the barrel and stock and trigger of her sniper rifle, keeps it pointed firmly away from the rest of the camp.

The others stay arranged around the fire, talking quietly.

"We'll be on to the next town tomorrow," Lucinda says, pauses from her gun maintenance to stare into the coals. 

"Sure thing, boss," Drummer agrees.

"Dredge, you'll be doing Birdy's job, she's earned a rest.”

Dredge nods, shrugs, looks away once she and Lucinda have acknowledged each other.

"I don't want this fucked up like last time," she says, looks to Photo too. Photo shifts uncomfortably, sinks lower behind Twist. "I want this to go off without a hitch."

"I'll do my fuckin' best, Boss," Dredge sighs. "But shit, you know me and my big fuckin' mouth. Shit _happens_."

"Don't let it happen this time," Lucinda snaps. "Learn from your goddamn mistakes."

"Look, Boss, I know you had a hard weekend, but don't fucking take it out on us," Dredge snaps back, sits upright. "I said I'd do my best, lay off." She scowls at Lucinda, who scowls back.

"How many times did I run you through the program last time?" Lucinda asks, sets aside her toolkit. "And you still fucked it up."

"Because mistakes never fucking happen, right?" Dredge stands up, curls her hands into fists. Her eyes are wide, dark in the firelight, her shoulders tensed.

"I expect better," Lucinda snarls, bares her teeth. Doesn't stand, but doesn't hunch under Dredge's glare either.

"Look, Boss, you want me to twist the fucking knife?" Dredge takes a step closer. "Said I wasn't gonna ask about that night, but we all heard what Owl-Eagle said." She glances to Twist, who nods, and Drummer, who also nods. "And look, Boss, I ain't real familiar with your tribe, but I know enough about birds to know what a fucking _shrike_ is."

Lucinda bares her teeth, now, springs to her feet. She and Dredge stand, the fire not quite between them, shoulders up and hands in fists.

"I heard some of the fucking rumors, boss, heard the same rumors as everyone else on this godforsaken team you got put together. You know how the men talk 'cause they forget you still got ears? Heard 'em talk about what you did at the ranger stations around the dam. Heard about the real big fuckin' signal you sent. Fucking." Dredge turns away, stares out into the dark for a long moment, carefully uncurls her hands from fists, presses them against her things, rubs the heel of her hand back and forth against the seam along the side of her jeans. “Heard you chopped the general's head off and brought it out to show off your goddamn trophy.”

Everyone is quiet for a long moment.

"Butcher bird," Birdy says, voice soft, breaking the silence. "I've seen them." She looks up at Lucinda from under her eyelashes.

Lucinda turns, walks out of the circle of firelight without a word.

***

"Lucy."

Siri is the only one still awake, when Lucinda returns to camp, gecko on her shoulder, its head a splattered mess but it body intact.

"I don't want to talk," Lucinda murmurs, drops the gecko, kneels next to it to start butchering.

"I'm worried about you."

"All you ever do is worry." Knife through the gecko's belly, toward the tail. Slices open easy, still warm. Guts start steaming.

"Lucy," Siri repeats, voice sharper.

"Don't you 'Lucy' me when you're pissed." Slice out the intestines, first, set them aside. Stomach, liver, diaphragm, lungs, heart. 

"I'm not angry," Siri sighs, squats next to Lucinda.

"Sure sound like you are," Lucinda replies.

"I'm frustrated," Siri replies. "Because I want to help, but you won't let me help."

"I don't _want_ help. You can't offer the help I need." Slice across the sternum now, then across the front of the shoulders, and just above the junction of the thighs. peel back the panel of meat.

"I want you to be alright," Siri murmurs. She reaches over with one hand, lets it hang in the air above Lucinda's elbow--far enough she won't accidentally bump into it, but close enough she can, if she wants to.

Lucinda stops her cutting, stares down at her hands, caked in blood up to her elbows.

"I haven't been alright in years," she murmurs. "No one in the Legion has, if they have years they've been here." She stays still, watches the blood start to slide down her hands, pool in the creases in the back of her wrists.

"What would help?" Siri asks.

"Leaving," Lucinda replies, ducks her arm under Siri's hand. "I'll--is anyone else on watch tonight?"

Siri shakes her head. "I offered to stay up and watch for you to come back, Drummer and Twist and Dredge agreed there shouldn't be any need for a sentry tonight. You can go to bed."

"You go first. I'll be back just as soon as I've got this mean little fucker started on toward being jerky." She slices off a hunk of meat, skins it with an awful peeling noise--digs her fingers in so the skin separates, rips downward in one quick jerk--and pops it in her mouth. Her raven hops toward the entrails, starts picking.

"You're going to get sick off that," Siri says.

"Believe me, I've eaten worse," Lucinda replies, chews twice, swallows. "I'll go sleep as soon as I'm done with this." She slices off another piece of meat, tosses it to her bird. "I promise. Put my sleeping bag next to yours if you don't believe I'll do it."

"How long do you think that will take you?" Siri asks, shuffles to her feet.

"Less than an hour." Lucinda shrugs. "And then I should go wash my hands off, which will be fifteen minutes maybe. Give me an hour and a half, at worst."

"Alright." Siri nods, turns back toward her sleeping bag and tent. Photo is sleeping with Birdy and Watch and Tooth tonight, the four of them piled nearly on top of each other to fit into the tent. Twist is curled around Dredge's back, one arm over her waist, and El is asleep a few feet away, a windbreak of blankets set up around her. Burn, Runner and Drummer are arranged the same as Dredge and Twist, Burn in front, Runner in the middle, and Drummer in the back, her arm stretched across the other two.

Siri tosses out both sleeping bags, leaves the pile of blankets where it is. She slides into hers, tugs a blanket in after herself.

She's dozing off when Lucinda returns, and she jerks awake as Lucinda kneels next to her, climbs into her sleeping bag.

"Lucy?" Siri murmurs.

"I'm here," Lucinda replies.

"Was that an hour?" She sits up, squints at Lucinda in the dark.

"Close enough." Lucinda shrugs, slides her legs into her sleeping bag. "I promised I would come sleep, so here I am."

Siri grunts, nods, rubs her eyes with the heels of her hands.

“Can I touch you?" she asks.

"Yeah," Lucinda agrees, scoots across the space between them so they're sitting hip to hip, legs stretched out. "I'd like that."

"Mmmkay," Siri agrees. "I'm gonna lay back down."

"Oh. Uh, alright." Lucinda follows her down, tucks herself small so they lay face to face, Lucinda's eyes wide in the dark, Siri's eyes half-closed.

"Do you want my arm around you?" Siri asks, holds her arm in the air.

"Sure," Lucinda agrees. "If I--have to move in the night, it's not you. It's just hard sometimes."

Siri hums, says nothing. Lucinda wriggles back against her chest, settles so she can feel Siri's breath on the back of her neck. Siri sets her arm down, curls it over Lucinda's stomach.

Lucinda breathes evenly, tries to sink into the feeling without letting the panic rise up the back of her throat.


	19. Chapter 19

**CW: Mild violence**

 

"Hey, Boss." Twist holds up a wanted poster in one hand, an NCR-printed newspaper in the other. Lucinda's mugshot looms large on the front of the newspaper, and she's been eclipsed by the reward--now over $14,000--on the wanted poster. "They have a whole article on you in the newspaper."

"What does it say?" Lucinda asks, leans back against the porch railing to light a cigarette.

"Hold on a sec," Twist agrees. "Let me find the good parts."

"I can wait." Lucinda nods, takes a drag.

"Alright," Twist mumbles, scans down the page. "'The Lady Legate of the Legion.'"

"I'm not a Legate," Lucinda says immediately.

"Good enough," Twist laughs, shrugs. "'She has been accused of a laundry list of crimes: terrorism, theft, assassination, murder, and most tellingly, cannibalism." Twist looks up from under her raised eyebrows. Lucinda shrugs, grimaces. "And now most recently, of butchering an entire ranger station singlehandedly."

"So you can see how bad their information is."

"She came to the NCR in 2276, after the first battle of the Dam, claiming to be a refugee, escaping her husband, a Legion officer."

"That was my story," Lucinda says, sinks down to the ground, rests her elbows on her knees. “I’d still swear by it.” Twist almost-laughs before she continues.

"She quickly disappeared into the backroads and small towns of the NCR, becoming little more than another nameless courier among hundreds of others--but where did she come from?"

"Oh my god, are they gonna try for the 'all tribals are baby-eating savages' angle? I thought we were past that."

Twist hums, skims a few more lines.

"Looks like. Say you're probably from a southern tribe too."

"Well, they're not _exactly_ wrong, but I feel bad for anyone in any tribe they actually mean. What else are they saying?"

Twist snorts, scans a few more lines.

"Nutjob paper. Now they're asking if you have magic powers, since you killed the president and all his guards without ever getting caught."

"Magic called pre-war military tech." Lucinda shifts, takes another drag on her cigarette. "Maybe I got my magic powers from eating babies."

"That's their next guess," Twist laughs. "'Or perhaps she gained her power by drinking the blood of her victims, much like the pre-war mythical vampire.'"

"Blood is not fun to drink." Lucinda shakes her head. "I've tried brahmin blood and I can't imagine human blood is any better."

It's Twist's turn to snort.

"Could always turn it into sausage."

"If you wanna drown it in ten pounds of filler."

"What else you gonna do with the liver? Fry it up, eat it plain?"

"Done it before," Lucinda replies, flicks her cigarette.

"Better in a sausage."

"Wimp." Lucinda grins.

Twist snorts again, rolls her eyes, leans back on her own railing. She folds the newspaper up, turns it in her hands to study Lucinda's photo from every angle she can. It's faded from the photo on the wanted poster, like someone copied it, badly.

"Dredge was right. You were cute. Little kid cute."

"I look like my mother." Lucinda sighs.

"Then she was cute too." Twist shrugs.

"Heard she was the prettiest girl in the tribe." Lucinda props her chin on one hand, lets her eyes drift half-closed as she watches Twist. "I'd believe it, honestly."

"Don't like you, but I can see it." Twist nods. "Can appreciate a pretty face."

"Does everyone on this team think that I'm pretty?" Lucinda asks, raises her eyebrows, takes a drag off her cigarette.

"Tooth doesn't," Twist laughs. "Or Runner, or Burn, or Drummer."

"Don't think I'm cute, or wouldn't do anything about it?" Lucinda asks.

"Tooth doesn't, rest wouldn't do anything." Twist shrugs. "I oughta get back to the others, reassure them we haven't finally killed each other."

Lucinda snorts and smiles at the dirt between the toes of her boots.

"Hey, you smoke?' she calls, as Twist turns away.

"Socially," Twist agrees, turns back.

Lucinda digs out her pack, holds it up toward Twist, pulls out a lighter she grabbed off the sherriff's bedside table and holds that up to. 

"Take 'em," she says.

"How old are the cigarettes?" Twist asks, steps closer to take the pack.

"Not pre-war," Lucinda says, with a shrug. "NCR imports, nabbed 'em off a writing desk three towns back. They're good enough. I've got loose leaf I roll into my own, when I have time, so I thought you might like these for yourself." She pauses. "If you smoke."

"Peace offering?" Twist asks, opens the pack to count. She looks at Lucinda from one eye. Lucinda shrugs, takes a drag off her cigarette, elbows on her knees and hands dangling in front of her.

***

_Fourteen thousand dollars_ , she thinks, looks at the poster. Her photo is smaller, overshadowed by the price on her head, by the list of crimes she’s accused of, the terms and conditions of bringing her in.

She folds the poster up before Siri ducks into the lean-to, buries it down under the three remaining gold bars in her pack. Some day, when all this is over, when she's not--what she is, when it's all a distant memory, funny, a story about being a wild youth, she'll hang it up on a wall. Point all the little Birds at it and tell grandiose stories made from whole cloth, so they never know how much of it is actually true.

Siri had ripped up the first poster she had read, crumpled the shreds in her hands and stared into the fire. Dredge had apologized for bringing it back to camp, and Siri had shaken her head, closed her eyes, told her she didn't need to apologize.

She ignores them, in towns, when she sees them. Pointedly ignores them. Ignores them with a set jaw and eyes straight ahead, ignores them like she's trying not to read the growing list of murders, deaths, theft, chaos, political machinations that looms besides Lucinda's face, larger and larger in every town.

Ignores them like she doesn't want to see them.

Lucinda can’t blame her.

They're hard to read, if you’re expecting someone different.

***

Drummer shoves Runner, and Runner flops over, laughing, rolls to the top of the hill. Lucinda follows after, gun loose at her shoulder, and Tooth trails back even further, rolls her own shoulder occasionally, still trying to work out the soreness.

Runner freezes, laughter dying in her throat as she scrambles, gets one knee under herself, rests her weight on her palms.

"Boss, there's a ranger station down in the valley," she calls back, just loud enough for Lucinda to hear. "Don't see anyone outside, but there's a flag flying and a new-looking trash pile."

Drummer crouches, behind the crest of the hill, looks back to Tooth and Lucinda, following them up.

"How big is it?" Lucinda asks, clambers up next to Drummer, offers a hand down to Tooth, who takes it.

"About the same as the last."

"So probably not more than six rangers."

"Probably not," Runner agrees.

"What's the plan?" Drummer asks.

Lucinda scowls down at the station, fingers playing across the receiver of her rifle.

"Ain't done anything to us yet," Tooth says, settles on one knee next to Lucinda. Cracks open her canteen, takes a swig of water. 

"But it's our job to be a pain in the ass to them," Lucinda says. "Are you three up for some shooting?"

Tooth and Runner glance at each other.

Tooth nods, and Runner agrees with a quiet, "Yeah."

"Drummer?" Lucinda asks.

"Alright," Drummer agrees, after a long moment of hesitation.

Lucinda nods, scrambles over the top of the hill.

***

The rangers don't see them coming, don't realize they're there until Tooth drops one through an open window, brush gun cracking, and Lucinda takes the one patrolling on the far side of the station. Runner keeps her sights on the front door, drops the first two that come running out. Drummer holds back, keeps her sights on what remaining rangers she can see--two of them moving across the windows fast enough Tooth can't get a bead on them.

They try to hunker down, fortify their positions, but Lucinda kicks down the door with one heavy-booted foot, _boom_ , cycle, _boom_ , cycle, and everything goes quiet again.

"I'll deal with the bodies," Lucinda says when they regroup. "You three head back to camp."

"I'll help," Runner offers.

Lucinda nods. "We'll loot the building and bring back and food, armor, weapons, whatever we find."

Drummer and Tooth nod, turn back toward camp.

***

They encounter the herd of bighorners five days after the ranger station, high on a hill, grazing and paying no attention to them. They take an adolescent bull, and Lucinda hauls the largest cut back to camp, slung over her shoulders.

***

Lucinda comes back from a solo hunt--her third in two weeks--limping, nightstalker over her shoulder. Dredge and Tooth take the nightstalker gleefully, set to work, and Lucinda collapses onto her unrolled sleeping bag, tucks her left foot against her butt and presses one hand over her shin. Siri watches her from the corner of her eye, doesn't move until Lucinda unties her boots, peels of her socks, and then rolls up her pants leg to study the still-pink scar tissue.

"You were limping," Siri says, snaps her book shut.

"I--" Lucinda starts. "Yeah," she agrees, turns her head, watches Siri from the corner of her own eye. "Why?"

"You leg. It's giving you trouble." Siri stands, leaves her book behind as she comes to kneel next to Lucinda.

"It's nothing, I'll be fine in a day or two." Lucinda grimaces.

"What about it hurts? What sort of pain?" Siri lifts Lucinda's ankle, rolls her pants leg up further. Lucinda grimaces deeper, leans back on her hands. A half-dozen curious pairs of eyes swivel to watch them.

"Bone, ache," Lucinda sighs.

"Remember when I told you to stay off of it?" Siri asks, sits back on her feet and puts her hands on her hips.

"I did!" Lucinda protests.

Siri doesn't say a word, points at Lucinda's bird, eagerly hopping around Dredge and Tooth and their knives. Tooth tosses over chunks of organ and the bird rips them apart happily.

"That was one afternoon and you know it," Lucinda replies, crosses her arms. Siri is taller, the way she's sitting, and Lucinda narrows her eyes up at her.

"You have a permanent injury, and I assumed you were going to be careful." Siri crosses her own arms, mirrors Lucinda's expression. Lucinda looks away, scowls. "Do you need me to run through how to take care of it again?"

"No," Lucinda mumbles. "I remember."

“Then why aren't you doing it?" Siri's voice goes softer, and she uncrosses her arms, lets her shoulders sag.

"We can talk later," Lucinda says. "Right now I just wanna sleep."

"Alright," Siri agrees. "You need to rest, though. Is there a reason for us to stay on the road?" She looks around at the others. The women still watching shrug. "Because if there's not, you would do well to spend some time in town, maybe, have some downtime. Stay off your leg as much as possible."

"I--" Lucinda look around at the others clustered around camp. Most of them are at least pretending to ignore the conversation, now. "We can go back, yeah. Tooth probably needs a break for her shoulder, too." She glances at Dredge. "Need to check in on our chairs."

"Hell yeah," Dredge agrees, and holds up the nightstalker’s heart for Twist--still silent--to see. She grins and points, and Twist gives her a silent thumbs-up. "Hey Boss, do we get to steal the chairs back if they're gone again?"

"Sure," Lucinda agrees. "I'm not sure I can mastermind another plan though, so you're on your own."

"We can do it," Dredge agrees. "I bet you Tooth and Watch and me could get all the chairs back without anyone ever noticing."

“If you say so," Lucinda snorts.

"I sure fuckin' do!" Dredge calls back. "Hey, do you think your bird could eat this whole thing?"

"Give her a day or two," Lucinda agrees, rolls her pants leg back down, stretches out again. "She could eat it then."

"Your bird is gonna get fat." Dredge slices a few holes through the chambers of the heart, tosses it toward Lucinda's bird. The bird gets to work, rips off hunks of meat and horfs them back.

"We'll need to take a slow pace, so you don't further ruin your leg," Siri says, brusque and doctor-like. She even rubs her palms together like she's finished something off.

"My leg isn't ruined." Lucinda scowls again, at Siri.

"In my nearest-to-professional opinion." Siri looks up at Lucinda from under her raised eyebrows--"I would call it pretty well ruined. You've had work done on it that helped, but your leg is never going to be at one hundred percent again."

"Fine, fine, we can take it slow." Lucinda flops back on her sleep bag, makes a noise somewhere between a grunt and a sigh.

"We'll leave tomorrow?" Siri asks, looks up at the others.

"We leave tomorrow," Lucinda repeats, louder, so that everyone murmurs in agreement.


	20. Chapter 20

**CW: None**

 

“Good to be home,” Dredge groans and flops into her deck chair. “I kinda miss it when we ain't here.”

“You're the only one,” Twist mutters, and Birdy, at her elbow, laughs.

“You're just mad ‘cause you get the squeaky chair,” Dredge calls back. “You're a poor sport, is what you are!” Twist flips her off before disappearing into the house proper. Dredge laughs.

Lucinda settles into one of the chairs, Siri into another, Drummer into a third, Birdy into a fourth. The others trail after Twist, and there's the sound of bags hitting the floor, good natured grumbling, jostling for position.

“Watch, Runner, Burn, you’re on watch for the night,” Lucinda calls.

“Got it, boss,” Runner calls back.

“No sleeping on the job this time.”

“That happened once,” Runner whines, leans out the window to frown at Lucinda. “A girl’s gotta get her beauty sleep.”

“Just try not to let them steal our chairs this time.”

“I’ll do my best!” Runner agrees, and salutes.

***

“Owl-Eagle?” Lucinda stands in the doorway, coat shed, bird back at the house, hair braided back nicely but otherwise unadorned. Owl-Eagle glances up, see it's Lucinda, and looks back down at her book. “I've been doing some thinking.”

“I hope it's the sort of thinking I've been expecting you to do.” She closes her book and sets it aside.

Lucinda doesn't look her in the eye, but nods.

“Good.” Owl-Eagle hauls herself to her feet, disappears into her back room. Lucinda stays standing in the doorway, folds her hands behind her back.

Owl-Eagle comes back with a folded scrap of paper, hands it to Lucinda.

“You remember all the steps?”

“I think so,” Lucinda agrees.

“Good girl.” Owl-Eagle pats the back of Lucinda’s hand. “You give that to Siri then. Get her all caught up on the program.”

“I'm not sure when I'll be able to come back, I would need--” Lucinda takes a deep breath. “I'm not sure if or when I can get away from--” she pauses again, any of a half dozen words left unspoken.

“You do it in your time, Little Bird. Your ghosts have been following you long enough, I'm sure they can wait a few more months.” Owl-Eagle grins, pulls Lucinda into a hug, whacks her back between her shoulderblades. “You'll do us proud, someday, but you have to mean this when you do it.”

“I will,” Lucinda agrees. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t mean to mean it.”

“You're your mother's daughter, you know that?” Owl-Eagle turns her head to speak into the side of Lucinda’s neck. Lucinda grips her tighter. “You remind me of all of them. You walk like Old Vulture, you lead like our Raven, you still look so much like your mother I do a double take every time I see you.” Owl-Eagle squeezes her one last time, pulls away. “We'll talk again next time I see you.”

“We will,” Lucinda agrees, nods. “I'll do you proud.”

***

“Siri? I went and talked to Owl-Eagle, and I've got something I wanna--share, with you.”

Siri sets her book aside, sits up straighter and watches Lucinda cross the room, settle on her sleeping bag. She stays silent as Lucinda unfolds and then refolds the piece of paper, without looking at it.

“It's about--you remember how she called me ‘Shrike’?”

Siri nods. Lucinda hands over the piece of paper.

“I have to do a few things.” She gestures to the paper and Siri unfolds it, starts reading. “I’m not--in a rush, it’s okay if I take some time, but these are things I have to do.”

“A bird for the deaths you're responsible for.” Siri looks up at Lucinda.

“By the letter of the law that's a lot, but there's a protocol.” Lucinda drops back to her elbows and looks up at the ceiling. “It's a bird for someone with a bird name, and a vulture for everyone else.”

“A vulture for every person?”

“Just one,” Lucinda clarifies. “Just one vulture, for everyone.”

“So you just need a vulture then?” Siri asks.

“No,” Lucinda says, softly. “I need a raven too.”

“You--” Siri starts, stops, shakes her head.

“There were exceptional circumstances,” Lucinda says, crosses her arms across her stomach. She doesn't look at Siri. “It--wouldn't happen, if things came around again.”

“We can talk about it some other time.” Siri looks down the list. “You’re…” She pauses, furrows her brow, rereads the list and ticks down it with her finger. “You're going to have to leave the Legion, to make this happen. There's no way to do most of this if you're Legion.”

“I know,” Lucinda says, tucks her knees up, rubs her face with her palms. They're both silent a long moment. “I know.”

***

“Hey, Boss.” Dredge doesn't look up from her baby. “We still ain't been paid.”

“I know,” Lucinda sighs. “I’ll go see what I can do about it.”

“Unless you're gonna buy all of us as personal slaves, I don’t think it’s gonna help much,” Birdy murmurs. “It hasn’t helped yet.” Lucinda freezes, halfway to her feet.

“You're a smart one, kiddo,” she says, finishes standing after a long, still moment. “I’ll be back in an hour or two, don’t wait up if I’m Iater.”

She heads in toward the rest of town, grabs her pack on her way by, slings it over one shoulder.

***

“Shit, man,” Lucinda murmurs, drops into her deck chair, takes the plate of roasted corn and mashed potatoes and fried bighorner, begins shoveling the potatoes down first. Twist adds another log to the fire, and Watch drifts in from her seat in the hallway. “Just...shit.”

“Went alright?” Twist asks, when Lucinda stops her shoveling to breathe and survey the gathering crowd. Dredge has her baby in her lap, Birdy’s in her arms.

“Went alright,” Lucinda agrees, rips into the bighorner as the nod ripples through the gathered group. “Shit, though, Doc, you never told me how much the Legion thinks you’re worth.”

Dredge laughs. “Sold me for fifteen denarii. Thought we were all that worthless, thought that was why they sent us out here.”

“That’s because you’re cranky and were pregnant with some tribal’s kid,” Burn points out, snorts. “I’m four and twelve.”

“And El there is another ten aurei, since she’s a girl baby with all sorts of potential. Tribal-fathered, though.” Lucinda nods at the baby in Dredge’s lap

“Fuckin’ tribals,” Dredge snorts. Tooth, Lucinda, Runner, and Dredge all raise their canteens.

“Five,” Watch murmurs, continues the conversation.

“One,” Twist murmurs, shrugs. “No market for NCR prisoners.”

“One and ten,” Drummer offers, shakes her blanket loose before tugging it close again.

“Four and twelve, but I’d be five if they caught on that I could have a kid still,” Runner says, tucks herself down and tugs her blanket tight as she leans into Burn’s thigh.

“Three.” Tooth shrugs, sinks down in her chair.

Birdy hesitates a long moment, as eyes come to rest on her. “Seven.”

“Your baby is another fifteen, though. Five, for me,” Lucinda says, nods to Watch, who nods back.

Photo shifts in her seat, tucks her knees up, doesn't look at anyone else. “I don’t know,” she whispers.

Drummer, Burn, Watch, and Lucinda all look between each other.

“Start at five aurei,” Lucinda says, stuffs her mouth full of corn. “Only rich men can buy slaves.”

“Too smart, though,” Burn offers next. “Think too much. Take off an aureus.”

“Can cook, though,” Drummer points out. “That’s another ten denarii back on.”

“Real pretty,” Watch agrees. “Another five on. Not so good at the babies. ‘s a gold and five silver off.”

“That’s three aurei left then,” Drummer counts out. “And fifteen denarii, but five off ‘cause the babies.”

They’re all silent for a moment.

“Young, most importantly,” Lucinda says, grunts as she swallows and rearranges herself on her chair to tuck her legs under. “That’s five aurei on it’s own.”

“Round it up to nine,” Burn says.

“Nine aurei,” Photo finally says. The gathered women nod and scuff at the dirt, or pick at unravelling hems, or peel plastic splinters off their chairs.

“And what’s our dear doctor?” Dredge asks, tips herself back as she begins unbuttoning her shirt for the fussy baby in her arms. Birdy waves, tries to take her baby back, but Dredge either doesn't see her or ignores her.

Siri shuffles her book in her lap, doesn’t look at the women.

“Twelve aurei,” she murmurs, so soft they can barely hear it. “Don’t like the prices, though.”

“Shit, none of us do,” Twist agrees. “Ain’t one who likes her price.”

“Have denarii and aurei for you all though,” Lucinda murmurs, picks at the corncob with her knife. “Once they get it all exchanged. I bought you all, and I’m paying it out to you now. You’ve more than earned your freedom from me. I’ll pay it out as soon as I have the money.”

“How’d you pay?” Dredge asks.

“I’m The Courier,” Lucinda replies, gives Dredge a one-eyed look. “Found some things in the desert worth enough to buy you lot.”

Dredge laughs, and the tension breaks.

***

Runner comes into the kitchen, wakes Lucinda before dawn.

“Boss, there’s a messenger here to see you. Some little kid, legionary in training.”

Lucinda rolls to her feet, shakes herself out.

“He say what for?” she asks, scrubs at her eyes with her fingers.

“Just said he wanted to talk to you, Boss. Wouldn't say anything to me besides that.”

“Thanks,” Lucinda grunts, and pads toward the front door on bare feet. Runner follows behind, settles back down in Watch’s chair.

The boy is standing tall out in front of the steps, chest puffed out, hands folded primly at his back. He can’t be more than nine or ten. Lucinda watches him from one eye, lights a cigarette while he waits on her order. She takes a drag, holds it for five seconds before blowing out smoke.

“What orders do you have?” she asks.

“The leader of the Frumentarii has orders for you to return to Dog Town to spend your anniversary with your husband. You are to report to the caravan stage at dawn today,” the boy pipes. When he says his piece, he clamps his mouth shut and stares straight ahead.

“Dawn today? Why such short notice?”

“I don’t know, sir,” the boy replies, still exceedingly cheery.

Lucinda takes another drag off her cigarette, studies the boy’s face.

“You’re dismissed. I’ll be there.”

“Yes sir!” he salute, and runs back towards the center of town.

“You heard that?” Lucinda asks Runner.

“Sure did, boss,” Runner agrees, hauls herself out of the chair to lean on the railing next to Lucinda. “How's the husband?”

“Clueless jackass I hate,” Lucinda replies. “I'll have Drummer and Twist in charge while I’m gone. I should be back in less than a month, if I'm lucky. If I'm not, this will be it for all of us.”

Runner nods.

“If it is, it's been a pleasure to serve under you.” Runner shrugs. “Sure as hell don't agree with it, but it's better than wasting to death in a backwater town somewhere ‘cause they couldn’t figure anything better to do with me.”

Lucinda holds out her pack of cigarettes and her matchbox. Runner takes both, lights herself a cigarette.

“I need to talk to Siri, but I won't see a lot of the team before i leave.”

“What do you want me to tell them?” Runner asks.

“I've been sent back to my husband. I’ll try to get back here, but I don't know when, or how, or if my luck will run out and I'll have a baby of my own.”

Runner snorts.

“I know your sort. Played your hand months ago.” She pauses to smoke. “Coat hanger sort of woman.”

Lucinda snorts. They stand in silence for a moment, and then Lucinda turns back, heads to the kitchen without another word.

Siri rolls over, grunts, when Lucinda bends to one knee next to her.

“Siri? Siri, hey, wake up.”

Siri mumbles, but sits up.

“What happened?” Siri asks. “Who's hurt?”

“No one,” Lucinda replies, presses one hand into the top of Siri’s shoulder. “But I--Vulpes is sending me back to my husband.”

“To--” Siri's eyes go wide, and the color drains from her cheeks. “Are you--really?”

Lucinda nods, looks away, swallows hard.

“Yeah,” she says.

“Can I send anything with you?” Siri asks. “Or--”

“You can send stuff, yeah,” Lucinda agrees. She turns, settles down so she sits next to Siri, hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder. “He’s sending me, and my stuff.”

“I don’t--hm.” Siri extricates herself from her sleeping bag, snaps open her doctoring case.

She looks at the contents for a moment, then pulls out the songbook.

“Can you take this? Will it be safe?”

Lucinda takes the book, runs her fingers across the cover.

“If you’re my Owl, I’ll carry it. Call it tribe and I'll take it.”

Siri sits back on her heels.

“Raven, right?” she asks.

“Shrike, still,” Lucinda says. “Raven someday again, maybe. But to you…” She leans over, spreads one arm wide, and Siri leans into the hug, clutches the back of Lucinda's shirt with both hands and a hitch of breath. “For you, I can stay Lucy.”


	21. Chapter 21

**CONTENT WARNING: Dubious consent in a mature-rated sex scene**

 

The caravan is six legionaries, ten slaves, her, and eight brahmin. She walks with the slaves, trails at the back of the column, keeps out of the way. Found a dress, before she left, put it on because then she won't forget to do it later. Left most of her things--the two remaining gold bars included--with Siri, didn't mention the bars specifically, but told Siri to take care of her things until she returned.

The slaves--and her--huddle together at night, just outside the fire’s circle of light. The brahmin are tied together, picketed to the ground, guarded by a new slave every night.

The legionaries never stop talking.

She doesn't hear more than five sentences from any given slave.

Crossing the mountains is hard, but the legionaries drive them harder. There are roads, at least, the remnants of the pre-war highway system, kept clear by prisoners and slaves and legionaries on somebody’s shitlist. It's still exhausting, though, and her leg aches most of the day, every day after the first.

The slaves offer food, at least, and she takes it gratefully, murmurs thanks so they nod and look away. She's not one of them. Hasn't been for eleven years, and they know it. She doesn't say anything about it.

***

Her husband meets her at the bridge, sweeps her into his arms and buries his face against the side of her neck. She wraps her arms around him, breathes the smells of dogs.

“Oh, I’ve missed you so much,” he murmurs into her neck, punctuates it with a wet kiss.

She feels the hate curl up through her stomach and into her lungs.

“I’ve missed you too,” she says, lets her voice crack where appropriate, tightens her arms and digs her fingers into his shirt.

“Aeliana made dinner, they’ve been waiting for you to get back. They’ve missed you too, they were so excited when we heard you were coming home.” He pulls away, looks down at her with wide and adoring eyes, presses a kiss to her lips. She leans up into it, hums.

“How are the kids?” she asks. He takes her by the hand and leads her back toward his home.

“Aeliana had twins--” Oh, the poor woman, _twins_. “and the boys are growing up into strong young men.” They’re terrors, right. “Tatiana’s girl is taking after her mother.” Oh, good. Valeria is still alright. Tatiana’s a good woman, and if her daughter is half the woman she is… “You’ve been the talk of town since the Mojave campaign.”

She laughs, ducks her head. Fakes humility.

“All the men are jealous, that my wife did something so amazing.”

That tweaks up her spine, and she feels the hate twist more. Not a person, can’t be a person here. Not allowed. Fold herself small and careful, the way Old Vulture taught her.

***

They tumble into bed, her coat and boots and armor left at the door. Here, she’s in a dress, stripped of her defenses and left a proper woman, like she should be. Feminine. Pretty, even as he runs his hand over her stubbly scalp and tells her he doesn’t like it, that she should have kept growing her hair out. That she’s not as beautiful as she was, this way.

He pushes her down, sucks hickies on her neck as she bucks her hips against him, claws at his back with what’s left of her ragged fingernails.

It’s no different from every time before, though he asks her to stay, afterwards. Holds her to his chest as she lays there, sticky from sweat. She tries to imagine someone else holding her-- _Siri_ , some indeterminate voice from the tribe offers, _Siri’s hand soft on your stomach, Siri snoring behind your ear, the tops of Siri’s thighs pressed against your rear, skin sticking to skin_ , and she recoils from the thought, doesn't want anything about Siri to touch this room, ever.

That just makes the sickness churn more in her gut. She keeps her place, as long as she can, but she wriggles out of his arms in the middle of the night, presses her forehead to the cool edges of the sheets, breathes. Dangles her hand out of the bed, presses her knuckles against the grimy concrete of the floor until the bones in her hand ache, then spreads her fingers and presses her palm to the floor instead. Anything to alleviate the warmth, the sweat, the sick feeling climbing up her throat.

***

The twins are older than she would have thought--a full four years old. Two little girls, their hands in everything. Aeliana lets them run around the three-room home without any worries, though she moves Lucinda’s coat and hat up onto a shelf after one of them--Valentina, Lucinda thinks, the other one is Tullia--drags it out and upends the bird nest from it. Valentina watches Lucinda's raven, out in front of the house, as the raven talks back and forth with the other, wild, ravens that wait for scraps from the dogs or the newest victim of a crucifixion. Lucinda offers to cook lunch, after Aeliana cooks breakfast.

“I learned a lot of good food,” she murmurs, as she opens cabinets, takes stock of their interiors, and closes them again. “Best thing I learned.”

Tatiana sits at the kitchen table, Valeria sitting next to her.

“What happened over there?” Tatiana asks. “We heard the stories, of course, but you know the grapevine here.”

Lucinda laughs, settles herself up on the counter, crosses her ankles and swings her feet out. Leans forward on the heels of her hands.

“You wouldn’t believe half of it, Tanya. Got shot in the head and lived to tell the tale. Killed a whole quarry full of deathclaws. Killed some robots that kidnapped me and stole my organs, broke into a centuries-old casino and walked out with the treasure hidden inside, ran into the burned man and killed him too. Made friends with a whole tribe of vault dwellers who could fly airplanes. The whole thing is the stuff out of a fu--” she catches herself, presses one hand to her mouth as Valeria looks up at her, eyes sharp. “Stuff out of a children's story,” she corrects. Valeria nods, goes back to her sewing.

“It sounds amazing,” Aeliana replies, eyes unfocusing as she stares at the chipped plaster over the oven. Someone got the cache of generators working, in the last six years, so there’s a bare bulb overhead, and running water, and a stovetop that works. “What were the men like?” she asks.

“The same as men everywhere,” Lucinda replies with a snort. Tatiana and Aeliana and Valeria nod. “They called me ‘ma’am’ more though.”

Tatiana snorts then too, smiles at her mending.

“Why did they call you back, if you were so successful?” Tatiana asks, after a long minute of quiet, where Lucinda rearranges her dress. The bottom of her feet are already black from the concrete, and she tries to not bump them against the whitewashed cabinets.

“I don't know,” Lucinda replies.

“Oh.” Aeliana and Tatiana are both quiet, then, let it rest.

“I know,” Valeria says, voice so soft Lucinda can barely hear her. Lucinda looks at her.

“Why?” she asks. It’s somewhere between her wife-voice--inoffensive to women, probing--and her decanus-voice--she needs an _answer_.

“Because you,” she curls her hand into a loose fist, jerks upward, “with Cloelius.” She looks down at her sewing again, presses her lips together.

“That son of a-” she catches herself, even without the disapproving look this time, curls her hands into fists around the fabric of her dress, presses her knuckles into her thighs, then the bends of her fingers, then the heels of her hands. She feels the anger curls around her stomach, wrap around her legs, until she curls her toes so tight her left leg creaks.

Aeliana and Tatiana both look away. Better to not know, or to profess to not know.

“How do you know?” Lucinda asks, uncurls her fists from her dress and runs one back through her hair. She hasn’t rebraided it, since last night, hasn’t needed to. Does it now. Needs something to do with her hands.

“He wants me to marry him,” she replies. She sounds like Birdy, when Birdy does her act for the towns. The girl isn’t acting. Has no reason to act.

“He told you?” Lucinda asks. Lets her voice soften. The girl shakes her head.

“Heard other men talking.”

“Which ones?” Lucinda demands.

“I don't know their names,” Valeria says. “But I could point them out to you tomorrow. They said they wanted you to come work at the slaughterhouse again.”

Lucinda leans her chin in one hand, studies Valeria with a raised eyebrow.

“You seem to know an awful lot about everyone's political machinations here.”

“Who, me?” the girl asks, face almost straight, just the tiniest flicker of a smile in her eyes. “Not me, I'm just a girl. Almost a woman. I don't know anything about politics, sir, it's not polite for a woman to know those sorts of things.”

Lucinda snorts, Tatiana smiles, and even Aeliana has the start of a grin on her lips.

***

“I feed the dogs, now.” Valeria has Tullia at her side, gripping her skirts with sweaty fingers and watching Lucinda with wide brown eyes. “I started about three years ago.” She shoves open the rusty chain link gate, and the dogs all start barking at once. Lucinda drags the gate shut behind herself.

Tullia detaches from Valeria’s skirts, and runs up to the nearest kennel box, a dog and a half dozen still-nursing puppies in it. She squats in front of the locked gate, and sticks her fingers in through the chainlink.

“Hi, mama,” she whispers. The dog's tail beats on the floor as she whines.

“What are their names?” Lucinda asks. Valeria leans back against the gate, and Lucinda leans next to her, watches Tullia.

“Mama there is Spots, the puppies haven’t been named yet. Next to her, that's Rango. Next to him is Amigo, next to her is Lulu.”

Lucinda laughs.

“Who is naming these dogs?”

“Me and the little girls,” Tatiana’s daughter replies with a grin. “He’s given them all sorts of fancy Latin names, but I don't give a shit and the girls want to have some fun.”

“Do they respond to their names?”

“No, were careful. You know what he'd do if he caught us ruining their training.”

Lucinda nods, watches as Spots butts her head up into Tullia’s hand.

“What do you feed them?” Lucinda asks, sinks to a squat as Valeria pushes off the wall, goes to get the dog feed out of the locked cabinet just inside the gate.

“Brahmin, bighorner, dogs that don't make the cut. Same as when you did it.”

Lucinda hums.

“Which is his favorite?” She studies the line of kennels, the dogs whining as Valeria tosses meat over the tops of the gates. Valeria laughs.

“Aeliana told me about what happened after the first time.” She hums a tune to herself, doesn't look at Lucinda but doesn't ignore her either, keeps one ear turned, keeps Lucinda just inside her peripheral vision. Lucinda watches. The girl is strong--takes after her mother, broad shoulders and wide hips, soft through her middle, round face and ringlets she does up into twists. Doesn't look like blond little Tullia and Valentina, who look so much like their father it's uncomfortable to watch them, doesn’t look like either of the boys with their brown hair, the older tanning only to his father's color, the younger tanning darker, still not to his mother's color though.

Valeria coughs into her shoulder, dry, unproductive. Lucinda watches the side of her face.

“His favorite is Anatolius here.” She curls her fingers through the chainlink, rattles the gate. “Sired the whole latest round of puppies. Good, strong dog, takes orders well, lives to please. He'd be my favorite to work, if I ever got to work them.”

“He still won't share?” Lucinda asks. She settles onto the floor, stretches her legs out, pats her thigh under her dress, where she has a lighter--her last-resort backup--and a pack of cigarettes tucked against her skin. She digs the pack out as Valeria snorts and rolls her eyes.

“The day he shares will be the day someone is holding a knife to his throat and demanding he let one out.” She leans her shoulder against Anatolius’s gate, watches Lucinda as she arranges the pack, the lighter, her skirt, across her lap.

“Can I smoke here?” Lucinda asks. Valeria shaked her head, points to Tullia, and makes a sweep-away motion with her hands. Lucinda immediately tucks everything back under her skirt, loose, and primly folds her hands in her lap.

“Tullia, why don't we let Mama Spots feed her babies. Aunt Lucia is gonna stay out here and watch the dogs for a little bit, alright? She’ll come back inside in just a little while.”

Lucinda leans forward as Tullia turns to look at her.

“I’ll even let you play with my bird, if you want.” Lucinda says, low, smile on her lips, glancing around like she's letting Tullia in on a big secret. Tullia's eyes go wide.

“But you have to go inside right now, alright? It's time for you and Valentina to have a snack.”

“Okay,” Tullia agrees, pulls herself away from Spots’s kennel willingly to grab Valeria’s hand. Valeria gestures to Lucinda, raises two fingers to her lips like she's smoking, nods once, and Lucinda nods back, shuffles her cigarettes and lighter back out once Tullia is gone from the kennel.

She tries not to cry when the nicotine hits her lungs, the tension of the last week and a half not quite _unspooling_ but suddenly more bearable.

Valeria comes back, five minutes later, no child in tow, and Lucinda holds out the pack. Valeria takes one, and the lighter.

“It's almost impossible to get any good ones if you don't have the money to spend or favors to cash in with the right people,” Valeria sighs, settles next to Lucinda and stretches out her own legs.

“Need to get more indispensable,” Lucinda replies. “Deliver a few babies, offer up a coat hanger or two, work somewhere you can be friendly and tell jokes.”

“Don't have a husband, can't get a job.” Valeria shrugs.

“He won't let you?”

Valeria shrugs again, doesn't look at Lucinda.

“I know some people, I can get you in.”

“I don't want to make too much noise,” Valeria says, soft. “I’ve seen what happens to other girls who make too much noise.”

“I have clout,” Lucinda replies. “I know the right women to get you anywhere.”

“A lot of people know what they want to do with you.” Valeria shakes her head. “A lot of the women are afraid to be around us just in case it rubs off on them.”

Lucinda stays silent, watches Spots rearrange her puppies.

***

She sleeps with the women, tonight, curls up on the creaky mattress Tatiana had always refused to sleep on, that she and Aeliana had always shared when all three were in the room. Tatiana and Valeria huddle in the same bed, and the twins sleep on a pile of blankets and a sad thin mattress Aeliana pulls from under her bed.

Lucinda sleeps facing the wall, hand curled tight around the inadequate pocket knife she keeps in her coat, just in case. She has the bowie knife, too, but already knows Aeliana’s disapproving look over a _bowie knife_ in _bed_. She’ll allow the pocket knife, maybe a switchblade, but nothing over three inches.

Valeria snores, as does one of the twins, and the other twin is a restless sleeper. Aeliana and Tatiana are both asleep nearly as soon as they hit their mattresses.

Lucinda stays up until the snuffling stops, until the twins dont move, dont nore, until her husband has stopped moving around in the other bedroom, until Tatiana has rolled on her side and _her_ snoring has stopped.

She sleeps in fits and starts, never quite comfortable, never quite relaxed, but she does her best to stay still and not disturb Aeliana.

Aeliana doesn't complain, in the morning, cooks ant eggs and fries strips of below-standard dog. Their husband eats first, doesn't look at any of them but Aeliana before he's out the door, on his way to the kennels.

“Anatolia up at the slaughterhouse heard you were coming back, she came by and asked us to send you up as soon as you were free for a day.” Tatiana slices her dog meat carefully, precisely, the same way she always has. Her daughter cuts just as precisely, but in a different pattern. Aeliana cuts it up for the twins, and leaves Lucinda's plate and her own uncut. Lucinda considers the meat for a moment before forking the whole thing into her mouth at once. Aeliana gives her a look, and Lucinda gives her sweetest smile back, to the best of her ability, cheeks bulging.


	22. Chapter 22

She's two turns from the slaughterhouse when the man pushes off the wall, steps into her path, and makes it clear she's supposed to stop.

“It’s been a long time, Lucia,” Cloelius says, grins wide and easy.

“I’m on my way to work,” she says, doesn't look at him, doesn't look at anything.

“Why are you back?” he asks, steps forward, turns as she does so he stands at her side. He drapes his arm across her shoulders and she fights to keep from going stiff under him.

“Because my last job ran out,” she says, voice neutral.

“Did you fuck it up?” he asks, starts walking without removing his arm, steers her into the nearest house, his house.

“No,” Lucinda replies.

“Good,” he says. “Because you owe me, and if you fucked it up you owe me even bigger.”

“I don’t owe you anything,” Lucinda says. Cloelius kicks the door shut behind them, and it thunks shut. Lucinda tries to focus on her knives--bowie strapped to her leg under her boot, pocket knife tucked into her bra. Still tries not to recoil from the arm over her shoulders.

“I’d say you do.” He stops, turns, puts his hands on both of Lucinda's shoulders, looks her in the eye. Keeps his mouth and eyes soft, his eyebrows raised, looks like a disappointed father when he speaks. He stinks like sweat, like he hasn’t bathed in too many days. If they weren’t having this conversation, if it was five years ago, maybe she wouldn’t mind. Now it just sticks in the back of her throat. “I got you that job, and you owe me for that.”

“I didn't ask for the job,” Lucinda replies, looks him in the eye. Can he feel the hatred? Has he heard the rumors? Does he _believe_ the rumors?

“Sure you did. I thought you hated this place and your husband.”

“But I didn't ask for you to get me sent away.” She takes a step back, finally, shakes him off, bares her teeth, and crosses her arms over her chest. She inclines her chin, looks down her nose at him even though he's taller. One of the floorboards gives under her toe, how long until it gives permanently and he goes through the floor? It’s what he deserves, after this. “I didn't ask you to do _anything_ for me, so I don’t owe you _anything_ in return.”

“I gave you that opportunity because I thought you wanted it.” He takes a step closer, pulls himself to his full height, and Lucinda takes another step back. Something animal and loud blares a warning in the back of her skull, and she can feel her face twitch before she goes still again “I thought you said you wanted out of this dog-stench hole of a city, and away from your dog-stench husband and too many people crammed in your house and away from everything here. I gave you a way out.” He steps closer, and Lucinda steps back again, finds herself pinned against the counter without enough space between them for comfort, can feel the same animal fear burning its way up her throat, clawing out through her hands so she wants to gouge at his yes, kick him in the balls, start running until she’s free of this city again. 

“I owe you _nothing_ ,” she snarls, instead of giving in to the impulse. “I’d owe you if I asked, but you gave it as a gift. I don't owe you for something I didn't ask for.”

“I risked my career for a way to get you out, and now this is how you act? Maybe I should tell your husband who you’ve been fucking behind his back.”

“Drag your own name through the mud?” Lucinda replies, voice quiet. Is that a threat to him? It would be a threat to anyone else, but he’s already leveraged it as a threat against _her_. “Cloelius, who decided to use another man’s property without permission.”

“Oh, no.” he leans in. “I know you fucked others. Holy shit, with a little work I could probably dig up a whole list.” He steps back, then, half-sits on the table and crosses his arms over his chest. “I bet everyone would believe me, too.”

“They probably would,” Lucinda agrees. What does she lose, if he drags her name through the mud? The Legion already wants her on a cross, wants her team dead, wants everyone to see what happens when a woman steps out of line. Called her Minerva on the coin, drag who she really is through the muck, crucify her, destroy the coins and--print someone else on them. Strix, probably, since he was there too, the pure and incorruptible man to her eminently corruptible woman.

“I can pull some strings,” he says. His shoulders loosen up, and she can see the play for what it is. How he looks is all relative to how he _did_ look. “I can keep you out of prison and off a cross.”

“I _don’t_ owe you anything and I don't _want_ to owe you anything.” She knows herself, though, is already planning what she would do, what she could do with further freedom, knows that she could get--

No.

She needs to leave here, needs to get back to the rest of the team, get them on their way so they can get as far as they can before this comes back around to _them_ too. 

“You're an ungrateful little--”

“Don’t insult me,” she snaps, considers for half a moment before she steps into his space, instead of shrinking--curls her hands into fists at her aides, squares her shoulders, tilted her chin up. Makes herself bigger, more, the way Old Vulture taught her after teaching her to shrink. “I’m not the one who’s stuck in this dog-shit town even with connections high up in the chain of command, am I?”

“Well you are now,” he snaps, mirrors her own posture back--fists curled, shoulders square, but his bottom lip stuck out in that almost-pout, face crumpled like a child who just had their favorite toy taken away. Can she keep him on the defensive? Even if she can, she's going to be late for work. Anatolia will understand, though.

“How long do you think they can hold me?” she asks, lowers her voice. He’s never seen her do this, never seen her get _mean_. He still thinks she's going to roll over and beg for him. “If the NCR rangers can't hold me, what makes you think this dog-shit town can?”

“We want you deader than the NCR does,” he snorts. “And were better at killing.”

They do, and they are, and she knows both as facts.

“And you think that will keep me here?” she asks. She leaves it at that, steps around him, and the table, and walks towards the door.

He watches her go.

***

She's one turn from the slaughterhouse, smell of meat and blood in the air, when she recognizes Strix.

He still has the dog, lying obediently at his feet, watching the street. She doesn't even react when Lucinda turns around the corner. Lucinda gives no indication of recognition either, doesn't want to disturb dog or handler and have to wriggle her way out of this conversation too.

She ducks into a back alley, decides to take the long way around.

***

She’s laughing with Mila--Legion-named “Octavia”--when the three legionaries step through the door and start looking for Anatolia. Anatolia intercepts them three steps in, before they're anywhere near any of the rest of the women, and especially the girls, at the far end of the line.

Everyone goes carefully quiet--not silent, silent looks like you're guilty, but quiet like they're being polite. Maintain the facade in front of the legionaries, just in case one might catch on. If one catches on, someone--no guarantees who, or why--will end up in trouble, and trouble is the last thing they need.

She keeps her head down, glances at Mila to her right and Soledad--Lucretia--to her left. Both of them are intent on their work, eyes straight ahead, mouths unquirked, but their heads tilted just so to catch any snatch of conversation they can.

“Lucia,” Mila says, when the legionaries break from Anatolia, who bustles after them, scanning the line. “They're here for you. Good things lead your way, bad things fall behind.” She doesn't look up from the meat she’s cutting.

“Thank you,” Lucinda says, keeps her head down, bites her bottom lip as a chunk of tendon refuses to cut easy. Tries to look absorbed in her work as four sets of footsteps approach.

“Lucia,” a man says, snaps his fingers at her. His voice is deep, she doesn't recognize him, and when she turns to follow his command, she sees his head is shaved like a new acquisition, his cheeks hollow like he's been hungry too long. New legionary, probably. Some man finally judged loyal enough to do… whatever he’s going to do.

She doesn't say anything, and no one else says any more. she doesn't recognize either of the men flanking her, now, either--they look like they've been loyal longer, even though they're younger, barely more than boys. Raised to it, most likely, born loyal. They’re maybe a year or two older than Aeliana’s oldest.

Anatolia stands in the doorway as they leave, circles under her eyes more prominent than ever.

They march her down the street, and after they pass the first block--a half dozen women peer out from behind curtains, a dozen men standing in the street, talking, a handful of children too small for responsibilities playing in the gutters--after the first block, dozens of pairs of eyes studying her, she raises her chin, sets her shoulders back, strides instead of just walking.

The women stop watching, only cast glances before looking away.

They know it's a gallows-walk too.

***

“Strip,” the deep-voiced legionary orders, settles behind the ugly painted-metal , pre-war desk. The two younger men lean against the wall behind him, and one pulls out a pocket knife and proceeds to flip it open and closed. Deep Voice doesn't look as she unbuttons her dress, steps out of it, stands in her undershirt and legging. He glances up when there's no further noise of fabric hitting the floor. “Naked,” he clarifies. “One of you, get her something else to wear.”

The legionary not playing with a knife pushes off the wall, opens a locker, tosses a rough canvas tunic at her. It feels like it might have been a potato sack, once. She pulls it on, says nothing.

“All your belongings will be removed from your husband's possession and redistributed, including your most recent clothing and anything your…” He hesitates, squints at his paper. “Anything your contubernium holds for you. You’ll hang on a cross as soon as we have the paperwork in order.” He shuffles a few papers, looks her in the eye.”If you're a praying sort, start now. You don't have more than a week to start begging someone for forgiveness.” He waves at his two subordinates, and they herd her away from Deep Voice.

She refuses to drop eye contact with him, says nothing, keeps her lips pressed close.

The cell is re-walled in adobe, with a bench against one wall and a bucket against the other. Down the hall, there are another five cells on her side--two with people, the other three empty-- and six on the other side-- all empty.

The people in the other cells are quiet, and Lucinda says nothing when the two legionaries lock her in. 

The legionaries leave, and lock another, more solid door behind them.

The hall is silent for a long, long few seconds.

“What did they put you here for?” a voice far down the hall asks. Old, feminine, tired.

“Got too good at my job,” Lucinda replies, leans her shoulders and chest into the bars. She studies the cell across from hers. The floor is stained like someone ignored the bucket and shit on the floor instead. It's not pretty.

“Didn't we all,” says a different voice-- male, younger, less tired.

“Also fucked a couple men who weren't my husband.” she sighs, pats through her hair to check for bobby pins. Usually she keeps them in her pocket, or clipped onto the band of her bra, but neither of those would work now.

“Were they any good?” the old woman asks, laughs.

“Until he started blackmailing me, the one was halfway decent. The other wasn't.”

The old woman laughs, the man is quiet.

“You have a name, girl?”

“Call me Lucia.”

“You're one of the dog wives, aren't you? I recognize that name.”

“I'm a frumentarius and a tribal, don't call me a wife,” Lucinda replies. There are no bobby pins in her hair. She starts considering how she’ll be removed from the cell. Probably the same way she was brought in, but with a lot more pomp and circumstance.

“Of course, my apologies,” the old woman says. She doesn’t apologize more, or sound miffed at the correction. Small mercies.

“What about you?” Lucinda asks.

“NCR,” the woman replies.

“How deep did you get?” Lucinda asks.

“Too deep to be allowed to live.”

Lucinda snorts, reaches one arm out of the bars. She can’t stretch even halfway across the hall. She didn't expect to be able to.

“What are they gonna do to you?” Lucinda asks.

“Cross, if they’re feeling mean, hard labor if they're feeling kind. You?”

“Cross.” She doesn't qualify it. That's her only option, here, outside of escape. 

“How long did they give you?” the woman asks.

“A week.” She pulls her arm back into the cell, starts pacing. It’s not enough space, and she doesn't have a window. She misses her bird, wants to run her fingers over her feathers, scratch under her chin, watch her roll through the dirt trying to open a toy capsule to get at the cricket inside. “He told me to start praying.”

“Do you pray?” the old woman asks.

“Not to any god he’d recognize,” Lucinda replies. “And not any god that's done me any good so far.”

“So you don’t pray,” the man says.

“Got a girl I wanna get back to. Might pray to that.”

“Best thing to pray to,” the woman says. “Hope you get back to her.”

“Thanks,” Lucinda says, sighs, and retreats to the back wall of her cell. She settles on her bench, crosses her ankles, folds her arms across her chest, and starts studying the texture of the walls.


	23. Chapter 23

**CW: Referenced gory violence**

 

She wakes in the middle of the night, so cold she's shivering, and she folds herself as tightly as she can, clutches her arms across her chest and draws up her knees.

She doesn't sleep the rest of the night, stares at the concrete wall with wheels spinning in her mind. She runs the same thought in circles so many times she’s nearly nauseous by the time dawn breaks and a jailer swings open the door--creaky hinges, no good to sneak out of if she can make it out of the cell--and walks down the hall. She doesn’t roll over to look.

“Oh.”

The voice is soft, small, the voice of a girl. Lucinda still doesn't roll over, but hears the girl’s footsteps stop in front of her cell, hesitate, and then move on.

“How are you this morning?” she asks the man.

“I’m doing well enough, given the circumstances.” He sounds like he'd be winking at her. Fucking lech.

“That's good.” The girl’s words sound so painfully blank and forced they make Lucinda cringe. The man doesn’t seem to notice.

“How are you?” he asks, and Lucinda hears the bars creak like someone is leaning on them, and the girl take a step back across the hall. Lucinda rolls onto her shoulder, braces her hand on the edge of the bed, behind herself, so she doesn’t roll over all the way, unfolds one leg but keeps the other tucked up close. She stares at where the wall and the ceiling meet.

“I’m doing well,” the girl says, and there's the clink of a tin plate on the floor, and a thankful noise from the man, and the girl’s footsteps retreating further down the hallway.

“How are you?” Lucinda hears, tone more open, more interested, less polite and distant and more familiar and curious.

“Still alive,” the old woman says, and there's the sound of someone taking a tin plate, the shuffle of skin on metal.

“That’s all you can hope for, day to day.”

“Sure is,” the old woman agrees. “Is there any news from the men in charge?”

There’s a moment of silence, and then the old woman grunts. “I figured. Are the crosses still full?”

“I think one comes down today, and a couple more in three.”

“Which of us will hang first?” the old woman asks.

“I don't know,” the girl replies. The old woman hums.

“Thank you, at any rate. Good to know what's coming.”

There's another moment of silence, and then the girl returns back toward the door. Lucinda sits up as she gets closer, watches.

The girl stops in front of her cell.

“Sorry I don’t have any food for you,” she says. “They didn’t tell me last night that there were any new people, or I would have brought you some.”

“It’s alright,” Lucinda replies, tries to measure the girl more completely now that they're looking at each other. Plain, brown hair, brown eyes, maybe a little too thin. “As long as you’re not trying to starve me to death.”

“Oh, no, ma’am, the Legion doesn't starve its prisoners.”

Lucinda snorts.

“If you say so.” They may not starve prisoners but they will starve slaves, and now that she's here, that's all she is to anyone who has any power.

“I’ll bring you something at lunchtime, maybe a big meal if it's been awhile since you ate?” the girl sounds concerned, genuinely, like she missed the tone of Lucinda's response.

“A day or so,” Lucinda agrees. “I wouldn't mind a big meal.”

“I think my aunt is making stew, I’ll bring you some and maybe some bread, and bighorner cheese, and--”

“That would be plenty of food,” Lucinda murmurs. “I’m only here for a few days anyway.”

“How do you know?” the girl asks, casts a glance at the door. She looks fascinated. Maybe they've never paraded her in front of the crosses with the threat of “this is what happens to slaves who don't obey.” She was probably born to this, never needed the fear beaten into her.

“I’m too inconvenient,” Lucinda replies. “And the faster I die, the quicker things fall apart.”

“What did you do?” the girl asks, leans in.

“I’m the Courier,” Lucinda replies. “I’m the one that crippled the NCR.”

“Oh, wow,” the girl murmurs, eyes wide. It doesn't look like an act.

The man snorts.

“Do you think I’m lying?” Lucinda turns her head toward the wall, bares her teeth. He can't see, but he should be able to hear it in her voice. “What are you in for? Get too friendly with another man’s wife, and she outsmarted you, made it your fault? You need to act like you're the biggest, baddest one here because you ain’t done shit worth hanging you for?”

He’s silent, then.

“So what did you do?” Lucinda asks, laces it with a snarl.

“Tried to desert,” he says.

Lucinda snorts.

“Two deserters and a spy.”

“I thought you were loyal?” the girl says, tips her chin down, looks up at Lucinda, eyes full of concern.

“I'm not now,” Lucinda replies. “As of this moment, I’ve deserted.” She looks the girl in the eye, and the girl almost, almost blinks.

But she doesn’t.

Down the hall, the spy laughs.

***

“I didn't think I would ever hear a courier desert,” the spy says. “You folks have it pretty good, from how I’ve heard it.”

The moon has sunk below the horizon, Lucinda guesses, the guards gone silent out in the front room, the deserter asleep and snoring faintly, snorting once in awhile when his snores get too loud.

“It _was_ nice,” Lucinda agrees. She digs her chin into her forearm, where it's wrapped across her knees. She watches the empty hall, keeps the entry door in her peripheral vision. “Born to something like it, hadn’t done it for…” she trails off, tries to do the math. “Almost eight years. I didn't realize how much I missed it until the blisters stopped. I hated it as a kid.”

“I never got the hang of it. Too much time alone.” There’s a rustle of fabric, like maybe the spy is shaking her head. “Always thought you folks were crazy.”

“Might be,” Lucinda agrees, just loud enough to be heard. The silences between them stretched long and undisturbed, and it feels sacrilegious to talk too loudly even now. “I met some odd birds out there while I was working.”

“You have any good stories about them?” the spy asks. There’s a rustle of cloth, the sound of skin on adobe, and a sigh.

“Met someone, she was a--Owl, I guess, maybe a Mockingbird because she was a ghoul, too, or starting toward one, which is a Vulture thing. Owl-Vulture. Met her in a bar out in the desert, one of those shitty little waystations with three bunk beds and a water pump out in the yard and enough moonshine to start the whole desert on fire if you weren't careful.”

The spy hums, low and soft.

“She said she had fourteen siblings, all but two younger than her, said she’d seen some things out in the desert. A deathclaw that talked, ghosts with no eyes that gave her water and a package to carry, a herd of brahmin trampling through the sky in front of a storm. You meet a lot of weird ones out there.” Lucinda shakes her head, sighs, stretches her legs out in front of herself. “I was probably one of them.”

“You don't spend--how long?”

“Five years,” Lucinda says. “Five years as a courier, but thirteen years as tribe before that.”

“Don’t spend eighteen years walking, and five of it alone, without getting a little odd,” the spy says, then laughs a little to herself. “I can do lonely, but I can’t do alone.”

“I’m ready to have a people again,” Lucinda says, soft, and the spy says nothing more.

***

She’s still eating the meal the girl brought--bread, and bighorner cheese, and brahmin-carrot-potato stew--when Cloelius saunters into the hallway. She catches sight of him from the corner of her eye, doesn't look up, but turns her back to the cell door and hunches further over her food. The girl stands next to the door, watching, not moving, her hands folded behind herself as she waits for everyone not finish their meals so she can collect dishes.

“Hello, Lucia,” Cloelius says, leans on the bars, judging from how close his voice is. “How are you doing today?”

“Nicely, actually,” Lucinda replies, sits up but doesn’t turn to face him. “I got stew, and bread, and cheese, and it’s better than anything you or my husband ever provided.”

Cloelius snorts.

“How did you sleep last night? Your wooden bench and shit bucket comfy enough for you?”

“Slept on worse,” Lucinda replies. “Slept like a baby.”

“What did you dream about?” Cloelius asks. “Your husband? One of the other men you’ve fucked?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Lucinda snorts. She shoves the last of the heel of bread in her mouth, chews loudly so he knows she’s eating.

“What about the one you ran through the Mojave with? He any good?” He pauses, waits for her to say something , acknowledge what he’s saying. She won’t give him the pleasure, keeps chewing even as she narrows her eyes at the wall. “Talked himself up an awful lot.”

Strix.

Strix put her here, whether he meant to or not.

Strix.

_Strix._

“Shit in bed, and frustrating as hell to order around out of it,” she finally replies when she finishes chewing. “Worst subordinate I’ve ever had.”

“He talked like he was the best frumentarius the Legion had, that he got put with you.”

“Is that what Vulpes told him?” Lucinda asks. Tries to reserve another snort. “He was shit at it, and that’s why he ended up with me. Cinderblock tied to my ankle before they push me over the edge and tell me to swim.”

“Oh, he couldn’t be _that_ bad.”

“You obviously never worked with him.” She finishes off the cheese, next, makes sure her chewing is loud and sloppy and obvious on this too.

Cloelius says nothing.

“So is that why you're here?” Lucinda asks. “Are you done? You have anything to say that I don’t already know?”

“Well, I did, but I'm not gonna tell you if you’re gonna be a--”

Lucinda laughs.

“You don't. You really, really don’t. Stop wasting our time and leave, Cloelius, just...leave.” The stew is getting cold, the base congealing into a globby mess that makes her want to gag just to look at it. The brahmin chunks in it look good, at least.

Cloelius stays silent, then turns on his toes--grind of dirt under his boot--and stalks back out the door. Lucinda tips up her bowl and tries to shake the stew into her mouth without utensils.

“Who was that?” the girl asks, when the door slams shut behind Cloelius.

“Asshole I fucked too many times,” Lucinda replies. “Didn't realize the mistake I was making until I got away.” She turns back around, pushes her dishes forward for the girl to take. “Check out the guys you’re gonna sleep with before you sleep with them, and make sure they aren’t gonna do that.” She nods at the now-closed door, lowers her chin and keeps her face empty as she looks back to the girl.

The girl nods, and something hard flashes behind her eyes.

***

The deserter is quiet all day, and so is the spy.

So she lays on her bench and studies the ceiling and thinks.

Strix, Vulpes, Cloelius, her husband, Lanius, Caesar, each of them rolling behind her eyes. It’s easy to think of some of them dying--Vulpes with his limbs taken off, bleeding out, fed to the coyotes like he made that fucking hat from; her husband fed to his dogs; Lanius burning on a pyre, unable to do anything but scream and beg and bargain; Caesar, hung from a cross in view of all the slaves he would have had hung, Cloelius shamed, stabbed in the street, pinned to a wall with knives until he bleeds out into the gutter.

Strix fed to Aphra, as Aphra does tricks, does as she's asked, turns circles and _speak_ s and tears into him as he screams, screams, screams, as he knows what it's like to be _afraid_.

She dozes in and out of that daydream all day, smile on her lips and eyebrows pulled down.


	24. Chapter 24

They come for the deserter before the girl arrives with breakfast.

He walks past, arms behind his back, hands clenched into fists. He would've been good-looking, weeks ago, before his cheeks had hollowed out and his hair got shaggy and the circles under his eyes grew.

Now, he looks like the rest of them, empty-eyed, tired, walking forward to his death because there is no other direction left to walk, or run, or crawl.

None of the guards who walk him out look at her as they pass.

She lays back on her bench and listens.

The crowd gathers, notes of fear, excitement, boredom drifting through the halls, faint after its journey through most of the building.

The noise gets louder, then recedes, then disappears entirely.

If she listens closely she can hear sobbing.

***

The girl doesn’t come alone, this time, but she’s carrying only one tray--the woman behind her is carrying two, one balanced on each arm. She looks like the girl, but older, grayer, sturdier.

The girl trots down to the spy’s cell, but the woman stops in front of Lucinda’s, offers one tray.

“My daughter won’t stop talking about you,” she says, and Lucinda takes the tray. Lucinda takes a few steps back, sinks to the floor, settles the tray in her lap. Bread, corned brahmin, a canteen of water. She drinks the water first, waits for the woman to continue. “So I supposed I should come see you myself.”

“Here I am,” Lucinda agrees.

“I know you,” the woman says, quiet. She doesn’t turn her head to watch the door, but tips it just enough to keep an ear on it. She sets the extra tray on the floor, leans one shoulder on the bars, crosses her arms. “I saw you with the healing women, once in a while.”

“My husband's first wife was with them more,” Lucinda offers. “She brought me along as an extra pair of hands, sometimes.”

“Aeliana, yes?” the woman asks.

“Yeah.”

“She delivers babies, most of the time. She brings the oldest girl along now, instead of you.”

“Valeria,” Lucinda says. She takes a bite of the bread--stale, at least a few days old, but it’s food. No grounds to be picky now. “She’s a good kid, learns quickly ,she’s smart.”

“I saw you a few times alone, too.” The woman leans in. “I never saw you deliver a baby then.”

“Sometimes a woman doesn't need a baby delivered to her arms,” Lucinda replies, quietly, into her heel of bread. “Sometimes it needs delivery elsewhere.”

The woman nods.

“I heard you did other, smaller things too. Broken bones, stitches, the like.”

“You fill in where you can.” Lucinda nods, turns her head to look at the woman from the corner of her eye. “Why do you bring it up?”

“We heard about what you did in the Mojave, if the stories are true.”

Lucinda nods, and the woman nods back. Down the hall, the girl laughs at something the spy said.

“And we heard about what you’ve done after.” She pauses a moment, blinks slowly, but doesn’t look away. “Most of us don’t-- _like_ the towns going like that, but.”

“Legion is Legion,” Lucinda says, nods again. She takes another bite of her bread.

“But we heard about the women, too.”

“Who told you?”

The woman snorts.

“Rumor got around about who you said you wanted picked, and then rumors got around about how they got treated. Heard you delivered a couple babies, got into a fight with someone, now I heard you bought your entire team. If you’re like Aeliana and Tatiana and the woman some of the rumors make you out to be, you didn’t buy them to bring them back here.”

“No,” Lucinda agrees. “And they’ve more than earned their freedom, by now, but I was called back here before I could actually pay out their wages to them. I’m going to do it when I get back.”

“ _When_ you get back. Do you have a plan?” The woman raises one eyebrow.

“Not yet,” Lucinda replies, scoops up her first bite of corned brahmin with the last bite of her bread. “But I’m working on it.”

“You have three days, including this, to come up with something.”

“How do you know that?”

“Oh, they switch people on crosses like clockwork. She goes up tomorrow, and you go up the day after. Simple.”

“Thank you,” Lucinda says, sighs, shoves the brahmin and bread into her mouth. “I appreciate the warning.”

“Of course. Now.” The woman pushes off the bars, then leans forward so her face sticks between them. “If you want to trade favor for favor, I could arrange some things for you.”

And she feels something animal crawling up her throat again, different than with Cloelius, a desire to grip the bars and lean forward, beg for a chance out of this concrete block fo a room, away from this dog-shit town, back to the road, back to Siri, away from all of _this_. She stays where she is, but maybe the woman sees, because something twitches in her face, too ,something that might be a smile, if she let it be what it is.

“What favor are you asking?”

“Life for a life. I let you out, you remove someone for me without getting me or any of my family implicated.”

“Who is it, before I agree.”

The woman beckons Lucinda forward, and Lucinda stands, steps closer.

“Caesar,” the woman says, voice low. “Don’t need him dead immediately, but you make sure that hellspawn dies. Slow, painful, knows what he did to all of us.”

Lucinda leans back so she can look the woman in the eye, then nods.

“Good. You come up with a plan then, I’ll bring your dinner tonight, and we can talk then.”

Lucinda steps back again, settles down behind her food, and nods.

“I'll see you then,” she says. The woman nods.

“Hey, either of you want the extra food here?” she asks, calls down the hall so the spy can hear.

“I’ll take the bread,” the spy requests.

“I’ll take the meat,” Lucinda says, after a moment's hesitation.

The woman nods, portions the food out according to request as her daughter collects the trays. Lucinda crams as much of the meat into her mouth as she can at once, cups the rest close to her chest.

“I’ll be back tonight with news,” the woman says, before she opens the door,and her daughter follows her out.

The door locks shut again.

“They're going to crucify you tomorrow,” Lucinda says, after she swallows a second bite of her corned brahmin.

“Damn well earned it,” the spy replies. “Knew this was the price of the job before I agreed to do it, made my peace with the idea last week, finally.”

Lucinda snorts.

“If you say so.”

***

“If she could behead the NCR, she could do it to the Legion too.” The trays are washed and replaced in their stack, and her daughter sits in the corner, hands in her lap and mending a pair of pants, listening. There are eight of them around the table, most with a child at their breast, a couple with a child at their feet, only the one with a child old enough to sit unattended.

“The NCR made missteps all along the way. Who sends their president to the last piece of land you hold between you and your enemy? If they wanted him to stay safe, they should have sent him to somewhere heavily fortified. That she managed it was luck, nothing more.” The woman holds a baby to her breast, works beads into a pattern on the decorative bag she’s making.

“And do you have a better pan?” Delivery Woman asks, raises her eyebrows.

“We wait it out. Old man can’t have too much longer to live.” Bag Decorator shrugs.

“And then Lanius takes over, and we’re worse off than we started.” Another woman, this one with a dog tattooed across her forearm and deep circles under her eyes.

“He would take over if she kills Caesar too,” Bag Decorator replies.

“You heard about all she killed at that one camp, along the Colorado, for the, ah--Dead Sea, that was his name. You heard about that, right?” This woman with a toddler crawling into her lap, waving a pre-war plastic toy dinosaur.

 

“I heard about it, and I think it’s bullshit, and a bunch of unprepared NCR officers is not the same as the top brass of the army, who are apparently expecting her to come for them since they want her crucified and derided, and not just quietly disposed of.” Bag Decorator snaps, sets her stitching down and takes a few deep breaths before picking it up again.

“She said she would do it,” Delivery Woman says, quiet.

“And I think she’s trying to save her own skin,” Dog Tattoo says.

“Even if she’s just trying to save her own skin, if the end result is the same, what does it matter?” Toddler Woman asks. Her toddler settles into her lap, places the dinosaur on the table. She rearranges the dinosaur so it faces back at them.

“If she gets us locked up or killed, that’s what matters!” Bag Decorator replies. A couple others around the table murmur in agreement.

“She won’t. We’ll be safe, she has enough of a reputation as a single actor when she does things. They’ll think she smuggled in--what does she want us to give her?” Toddler Woman looks to Delivery Woman.

“Depends on what she asks for.” Delivery Woman shrugs.

“This is a stupid, suicidal mission. You don’t even know what she wants yet. You’re going to get us a killed when she wants a gun,” Bag Decorator snorts.

“We die, no matter what she does, with this at least there's a chance maybe we both benefit and die a little later than planned,” Toddler Woman points out.

“Those are literally the only factors that make this a reasonable plan,” Dog Tattoo groans and runs her hand back through her hair.

The whole circle is quiet.

“Ask her what she needs, and we’ll try to get it to her tomorrow. If we can’t get the actual thing, we’ll do as close as we can,” Toddler Woman says, soft. The others look between themselves, a couple snort, and then they all nod.

***

“So, you’ve had all day to think, you have a plan?” the woman passes the tray through the bars, and Lucinda takes it, settles on her bench.

“Get all the things they confiscated from me when i came in, keep them somewhere I can find them, and bring me a screwdriver, four bobby pins, and my knife in the holster. That’s all I need.” She shoves her mouth full of bread. “Bring me that, make it look like I could have gotten it off of any of the guards, and we’ll be in the clear.”

“I can swing that, or something close enough. I can get the knife and your things into a locker out there,” she jerks her thumb at the closed door, and behind it a guard laughs at something another said, “But I think the best knife or screwdriver I can get you is a shiv that can double as both.”

“A long as it has an edge and I can turn a lock with it, that'll be fine.”

“Good. Expect it sometime tomorrow.” The woman nods, steps away, leans against the wall until Lucinda and the spy pass their trays out the bars. She sweeps out, doesn't look back. Lucinda turns to the wall, and starts working through what she remembers of the floorplan.

***

“You weren’t born Legion,” the spy says. She sighs, shifts.

“No,” Lucinda agrees. They’re both quiet. “Tribal, to the southeast,” Lucinda finally says, when it’s clear the spy is waiting for more of an answer.

“What tribe?’ the spy asks.

“Birds, most people called us, never had a real name for ourselves outside of that.” She stretches her arms out to her sides, can't quite reach the walls of the cell. She curls her hands into fists, studies the dark ceiling. “I have a girl I want to get back to, and a raven that’s depending on me, probably.” She tucks her arms back across her chest, holds her upper arms in her hands. “I tried to teach her to forage on her own, but I worry.”

“You all keep birds like that?”

“Yeah,” Lucinda agrees.

“It sounds nice.”

“Until they shit all over you and try to steal your food, it is, yeah.”

The spy laughs.

“Why a raven? Why not something like--I don’t know, a bluejay? Or a sparrow? Or a hawk?”

“Because that’s my name, in the tribe. That’s what I do. I’m smart, I’m a leader, however you want to phrase it. So I have a raven.”

“Is your girl tribe too?”

“She’s not. Not yet, at least. I’d like her to be, and I think she’d agree to it.” She lets that hang for a moment, breathes loudly to fill the silence and keep the spy from saying anything more. “I have some things I need to do first, though. That’s the other reason I need to get out of here.”

“We all have shit we want to get done.”

“If my things arrive in time, I can get you out of here too. You don’t have to accept it.”

“Oh, I know I don’t have to accept it.” The spy sighs. “I wouldn’t get out, though. I know you think I could, but I couldn’t. I’d slow you down.”

They’re both silent for another long minute, and Lucinda sits up, scoots over to sit against the wall.

“I’ll be your distraction, though, if I can.”

“You don't have to,” Lucinda says. “I can get out on my own.”

“Are your chances better if I distract them?” the spy asks.

“Probably,” Lucinda agrees. “You don't even know me, you don’t know what I’ve--”

“You’re a raven right? You said it yourself, a smart bird, a leader bird. Someone out there can use you. You got this far and--god, I feel like I’m an inspiring monologue in a novel.”

Lucinda laughs.

“You go do whatever that woman wants you to do, you get other people out. I can rot here, and that's alright, I’ve done my piece.”

“I’m not a raven anymore, though,” Lucinda says, tail end of a laugh trailing into somber tones. “Shrike, not raven, after some of the shit I’ve done.”

“Well, I can tell you straight away that if you’re getting a shiv, you won’t be leaving this place without bloodshed. That's what a shrike was, right?”

“Butcher bird,” Lucinda agrees.

“ _Lanius_ , huh?”

“I’m aware,” Lucinda says. “The first time I met him, I thought he would be a shrike, but here I am, with no room to talk.”

“Just because you have no room to talk doesn’t mean you're not right.”

Lucinda grunts, then goes quiet.

“When they come to get you, two guards, do you think?” she asks after a long minute of silence.

“Most likely.”

“So we hope they don’t come until after breakfast. I can take two of them, especially if you're being distracting.”

“Got it. Put up a fight, you come in and stab a couple of the bastards.”

“You got it.”

“Good. I’m ready.”

“I’m glad. Should sleep, hough. Need to be well-rested for our breakout.”

The spy laughs, and then there’s the sound of a creaking bench, the shuffle of fabric.

Raven. Shrike. Which does she need to be here? 

Raven can think her way out of the prison, slide her way past the guards with charm and a smile and careful timing, knows exactly how to twist things just how she needs them.

Shrike knows her battles, sees no problem in spilling blood, feels no qualms about going through a dead mans pockets for denarii and cigarettes and ammunition.

Needs both, for this escape attempt.

Needs both, if this is going to become something bigger than herself, if she’s going to kill Caesar, if she’s going to do right by the people she’s done wrong by, if she’s going to spit in Caesar’s and Lanius’s and Vulpes’s eyes.

Needs something bigger than either, needs something that’s both.

Needs a name made out of _fear_.


	25. Chapter 25

**CW: Violence**

 

The guards do not come for the spy before breakfast.

There’s a sharpened piece of metal in her bread, no wider than her finger, four bobby pins in the bottom of her stew bowl. She shoves them inside her tunic, eats quickly, and passes the tray back without a word.

The woman doesn't meet her eyes, just sighs and looks bored.

***

Dredge settles on the lawn chair next to Siri.

“You're moping,” she says, grins wide enough Siri is almost, almost surprised her face doesn’t split. Amost.

“No I’m not,” she replies, and moves her bookmark forward before closing her textbook.

“Yeah, you're,” Dredge replies. “You've been moping since the boss left.”

“I am not moping.” She glares at Dredge, and Dredge just grins back.

‘Sure are,” Dredge disagrees. “Husband did it all the time, I know what moping looks like.”

Siri rolls her eyes and opens her book again.

“My wife said I did the same,” Runner offers, from across the fire, grins too when Siri glances up to glare at her. “It’s definitely moping.”

From their chairs, Birdy and Photo giggle.

“I’m not moping, I’m nervous. Without her around, we’re likely to be split up again.” She closes her book again, sighs.

“I say we leave,” Twist says, low. “There’s nothing keeping us here, except that the boss promised to come back here.”

“She told me to keep her things safe.” Siri meets Twists eyes across the fire. Twist shrugs.

“You could do that on the road too.”

“We’re too hard to find on the road.” Siri shakes her head.

“Doc, and I mean this in the nicest way you can take it, but the boss ain’t coming back from Dog Town.” Drummer shakes her head and all eyes turn to her. “That ain't how this shit goes. Woman goes somewhere else because someone high up in the Legion says she should, and she doesn’t come back.”

“She will,” Siri says, quietly. “She will, she always has before.”

“First time for everything,” Drummer says, shrugs. 

“Didn’t your mama ever tell you not to fool around with a married woman?” Runner asks, rolls over onto her back, laughs. “Mine sure did. Never ends well.”

“I’ve made worse decisions in my life,” Siri sighs, and opens her book, again.

“I’d say the Boss is actually about the worst decision a person could make, no offense intended, Doc.” Dredge laughs. Siri gives her a sideways glare. “I’m sure she’s lovely past all the murder.”

“I could make commentary on your choices in romantic entanglement too, if you’d like,” Siri offers. “How long has it been since you were separated from your husband?”

“Well, he’s dead, and even when he wasn’t, wasn’t like he owned me and tried to make me have his babies. All in all, I’d say Twist is probably a better idea than an officer’s wife.”

“You might be right,” Siri sighs, closes her book again. “I think I'm going to go to bed.”

“Seeya in the morning, Doc,” Drummer murmurs, and the others around the fire nod in silent agreement.

***

They come for the spy just before dinner.

She hangs to the back of her cell, yells at them, protests, goes limp when they try to usher her out of the cell, makes them drag her.

Lucinda swings open the door--creaky, but they have bigger problems right now, as the spy starts yelling louder--and sprints down the hall, shiv held ready in one hand.

She stabs the first below the ribcage, through his back, dances backwards as he shrieks and spins, tries to clap one hand over the wound and grab his machete with the other. She stabs him again, this time through the throat, and kicks him in the stomach.

The other one drops the spy, who hits the floor with an _oof_ , and he takes one step forward before the spy latches onto his ankle and drags him down.

Lucinda stands over him, and stomps on the back of his neck until she hears a snap.

The spy lets go, scoots backwards on the floor, and covers her mouth with one hand. She stares at the corpse in the middle of her cell.

“There are a lot more left,” Lucinda says, quietly, and takes the machete off the guard whose neck she broke. She doesn’t look at the spy. “I can get my things from the locker, if they haven't already destroyed them and that woman put them there, and then I need to be on my way. I can get you out with me, if you’d like.”

“Can I take a minute?” the spy asks.

“You can have as long as it takes me to check these two over for anything useful.”

The spy nods, tears her eyes away from the guard, studies the wall above the cell door instead.

Lucinda turns out the broken-necked guard’s pockets, takes the coins he has and leaves them in a pile.

“On second thought, I’m going to go get my things, and then I’ll be back to deal with these two. If you want, you can go sit in my cell, you won’t have to look at their bodies then.”

The spy nods and slowly gets to her feet. Lucinda watches her as she steps out of the cell, walks through the puddle of blood in the hallway, and heads toward her cell instead. She waits until the woman is inside to follow her up the hall, and then kneel in front of the door with a bobby pin and the flat end of her shiv.

The spy makes a noise that might be a strangled sob.

The lock pops easy, and she stands up, readies her stolen machete before she pushes it open.

The room is empty, a deck of cards tied up with a rubber band, two bottles of moonshine open and set on the table, a pile of denarii and caps in the middle of the table. The lockers on the wall are still closed and locked, and she checks to make sure the other door is closed before going to get her things. She leaves the tunic on, pulls on her leggings and boots, the gaiters, then her dress over all of it, then the coat over that. She straps her knife--still in its sheath, still untouched--to her leg, and checks through her pockets as she turns back toward the cells. She pauses to shovel all the money from their betting pot into her pockets.

The spy is still sitting in the cell, though she's on the bench and not the floor, and she's still not looking at anything in particular. She’s rocking just the tiniest bit.

Lucinda ignores her, for now, and goes to search the bodies.

She takes a machete from one, empties his pockets of money. She leaves him facedown in the cell, drags the other over with an awful wet sound as he continues to bleed out--the sound of leather, skin, slopping through blood across the adobe floor, the sound of metal scraping on adobe and setting her teeth on edge. This one has some sort of jerky in his pockets, and she shoves it into hers--it’s going to be a long run without time to stop, she needs to keep what food she can.

She leaves the smaller knife on him.

The spy is still sitting, silent, when Lucinda steps into the cell.

“Are you ready to go?” she asks, and the spy nods, slowly gets to her feet. “I’ll go ahead, you follow behind.”

“How much more death will there be?” the spy asks.

“Maybe a lot, maybe not much,” Lucinda replies. “I don’t know.”

“Alright,” the spy says, takes a deep breath, closes her eyes. “Lead the way.”

***

Lucinda swaps her machete for her bowie knife, leaves the shiv behind, takes out the head guard--Deep Voice--in his office, and then two more door guards, so she’s covered in blood, but still unharmed. The spy won’t look at the corpses.

They stand in the alley, outside the prison, as the spy changes into a slave uniform.

“You can come with me, if you’d like,” Lucinda offers, wipes her knife on the back inside of her dress, where the stain won’t show so much. The dress is really a total loss at this point anyway, but it feels right to try to hide any more blood.

“I can get out, from here,” the spy says. “I’m plenty capable of getting to where I need to be now that I’m not in a locked room without a lockpick or a weapon.” She tightens the belt on her potato sack.

“Will you be able to get along without a weapon?” Lucinda reaches for the machete---  
it’s too big, too slashy for what she might still need to do, no use hauling the extra weight now. The spy shakes her head.

“I do better without one, but thank you for the offer.” The spy nods, scans the street past the alley.

“Good luck getting back to the NCR.”

“Thanks. Good luck to you, in whatever you plan on doing.” The spy turns, without another word, and trots down the alley, disappears around a corner. Lucinda waits for a long minute before going the opposite direction.

She makes it ten steps out of the alley, down the street, before the freedom hits her all at once, and a raven circling above her--maybe hers, maybe wild--reminds her.

 _Strix_.

 _Strix_ made this happen, and now she’s unbound by the Legion’s rules and regulations.

She tries to map where he would be, and where she could get him alone, and she takes off down a side street.


	26. Chapter 26

**CW: Gore, violence**

 

Strix is sitting out on a bench in the park near the barracks where he would be assigned to sleep. He’s watching Aphra, who is nosing around the grass, trotting from one tree to another.

He doesn't look up as she approaches. He _does_ look up when she whistles at Aphra and Aphra looks up, comes bounding over.

Lucinda tosses a scrap of jerky she stole from the dead guard into the air, and Aphra catches it, swallows it, and continues over. Lucinda squats, ruffles the fur of Aphra's neck, and doesn’t look at Strix.

“They said you were going to die,” he says, wonder in his voice.

“Not yet,” Lucinda replies. “Not for a lack of them attempting.” Strix doesn’t move from the bench. She had hung out in alleys, in crumbling buildings, until dark had fallen and he was more likely to be alone and she was less likely to be seen. No one had seen her, and he was alone in this park, so it had been some sort of success.

“Why are you here?” Strix asks, stands up from his bench, steps closer. He fidgets as he gets closer. She glances over, doesn’t turn her head, and continues to pet Aphra, who has sunk down into a sit, and who is slowly sinking lower, panting happily.

“Follow me on a walk,” Lucinda says. “Aphra, stay.”

Aphra obediently plops the rest of the way to the ground, and Lucinda fishes out another chunk of jerky for her.

Strix trails after her as she walks away, Aphra watching, out into the dark of the park, away from the sodium lights bolted to the buildings, out among the dying pines.

He follows her, silent, until they’re in the dark.

She feels for the coils of rope around her waist: stolen from a warehouse, cut into two lengths--one long, one short, the sort of rope the slaughterhouse uses, The lengths she figured to tie someone's feet and hands and sling them over a tree branch, or a sturdy light post, or whatever she can find that could support a grown man’s weight.

“Do you think we’re friends?” Lucinda asks, feels for the loose knot at the end of the rope, just to reassure herself it is where she left it. She shuffles through her coat for her knife, covers it by digging out another piece of the guard’s jerky and tossing it into the air, catching it with her mouth.

“I--I would like to be, but you’re--”

“Slated for crucifixion, what was it, tomorrow?” Lucinda asks. “I’m sure they’re looking for me and my escape partner right now, but you all never learned to hide, so you don’t know where to look.” There’s a burnt-out light post, and a park bench, close together. The park bench is bolted down, like some asshole tried to steal it at some point and someone decided that the bench would not be moving. “Why do you think we're friends, Strix?”

“We--you slept with me! I thought we were at least friendly!” 

“So you went and told all your friends, hm?” she asks. “Or just enough friends that someone who hates me finds out, figures he can get me crucified for it. And now you still think we can be friends?” God, dead things don’t bleed as well as live ones, but if she tries to hang him alive he’ll scream and someone will come for him.

“I thought we were--” he starts, and she doesn't let him finish, yanks out her knife and spins and stabs him through the stomach, shoves him back off the knife while his eyes bug out and his hands grasp at empty air. He clutches his stomach after a moment, blood dribbling over his fingers, and he makes a tiny choked noise. His eyes go wide, and his mouth moves, and she thinks she can make out the words “I didn’t know--” before he stops and his mouth gapes like he can’t get enough air. She slams the butt of her knife into his cheek and sends him toppling over with a louder, still choked noise.

She rolls him onto his stomach, yanks the smaller length of rope out from her rope-coil belt, and ties his hands behind his back as he makes a soft gurgle.

“We aren’t friends, we never were, and honestly at this point I hate you.” She rolls him onto his back, yanks the longer rope out of its coil, and ties his feet together, tosses the end of the rope over the lightpole, drags the free end down until he drags across the ground, gasps for air, groans as she hauls him off the ground.

She ties the end of the rope to the bench, which creaks, but doesn’t move.

He’s not making anymore noise, but he is still breathing.

The closest open intersection is back in Aphra’s direction, and she sheathes her knife, looks between the puddle of blood growing under Strix-- _drip, drip, drip_ , getting faster as the blood pools lower--and then back to circle of light under the streetlight near Aphra.

She drags her hands through the mud and trots to the circle of light, begins the outline of a raven--head, beak, neck, then she has to go get more blood, continues on to the wings, the pinions, more blood, the feathers, the body, the splayed legs, more blood, the tail.

She steps back to look at it, considers.

More than a raven.

Needs something more than a raven.

More blood, comes back, paints the markings--a stripe across its eye, a border for a lighter underside, borders streaks of white in the wings, on the edge of the tail, colors in the end of its beak.

Steps back.

Pauses a moment to look at it before going for one last handful of mud.

She comes back, and writes underneath the bird.

**THE RAVENSHRIKE COMES.**

***

Valeria is asleep at the kitchen table when she slides in the door, but sits bolt upright when Lucinda jostles the jarred fruit on the shelves looking for where she stashed the book behind them, when she had some time alone.

“Lucia?” Valeria asks.

“Yeah,” Lucinda replies, drags the book out. It hasn’t been touched, and she tucks it under her arm, inside her coat. “For your safety, I wasn’t here. I disappeared without ever coming back here, as far as you know.”

Valeria nods, watches as Lucinda places the book in the backpack in the corner, starts emptying her coat pockets into it too.

“I was asleep,” Valeria says. “If they notice anything missing.”

“Thank you,” Lucinda says, grabs a canteen off the shelf, a jar of sugar-syrup apples, a hunk of canvas-wrapped dried meat. “I’ll be back, as soon as I can, but I’ll be a few months. I’m sorry.” She hauls the bag over her shoulder. “Don’t marry Cloelius, by the way. Asshole, and he’ll sell you south as soon as he figures he can get away with it.”

“I kinda assumed he was an asshole,” Valeria replies, with a laugh. “And I didn’t want to marry him anyway, so I’ll do my best.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Tell Aeliana she can pass out whatever of mine I left behind, I’m sure there’s plenty. You take care, alright?”

“Always have, and I’ll keep it up,” Valeria agrees. “You should go, though, they’ve already come here three times today, and they might come again.”

“Thank you,” Lucinda says, one more time, before she disappears out the door, and into the night.

Valeria packs her mending back into its pile, extinguishes the lamp, and shuffles to the bedroom.

Tatiana shuffles over to leave space, but no one wakes enough to ask a question.

***

Her bird catches up again on day two, spends her days circling, or riding in Lucinda’s hood, or settling into the backpack, comfortably nestled between the hunk of meat and the songbook.

She steals a shirt from someone's clothesline on day eight, when she passes close enough to a town to identify a clothesline, sheds her dress and continues on in leggings and a t-shirt, coat seams no longer rubbing against her shoulders and back and leaving sore stripes.

Day ten, she sees the lights of their town on the horizon, and she slows her pace, hunkers down for the day in a washout half a mile out, as the sun rises. She sleeps fitfully, coat pulled over herself to shade from the sun, her head pillowed on her backpack, hands clenched in the front of her too-big stolen shirt.

***

“Holy shit, is that--” Dredge starts, hops out of her chair to squint past the firelight.

Lucinda rounds the shrubs, scans the gathered women until she finds Siri, makes an immediate beeline for her.

Siri makes it halfway out of her chair before Lucinda draws even, clutches her face, and plants a kiss on her lips.

Siri yanks back, and Lucinda pants, eyes wide, takes a step back.

“Sorry, I--uh, won’t happen again. I’m--” She looks around at the rest of the team: Dredge with a slowly dawning grin, Drummer passing Burn a handful of denarii, Twist with her eyebrows raised, Birdy pretending not to smile into her baby’s scalp, Photo with her hand on her camera but her camera not in hand, Runner leaning back on the front porch, Watch paused in cleaning gun parts to watch the hubbub, Tooth next to her with a bummed cigarette. “I--they’re going to crucify me.”

Twist snorts. Dredge elbows her in the shoulder.

“How far behind are they?” Runner asks.

“I’ve been running for ten days, by myself, but this is the first place they’ll look that isn’t Dog Town, so probably in--” she pauses, tries to count.

“Three days or less,” Drummer says.

“So we should leave,” Watch says. “We were talking about it.”

Lucinda nods, looks around at everyone again.

“So how do we split?’ Twist asks, stands up, dusts her hands off.

“You and me,” Dredge says. 

“Birdy, Photo, we can take you with us. Photo, if you want we can take you home, or you can keep moving alogn with us.” Twist looks at the two girls, and both nod.

“Me and Drummer and Burn,” Runner says. “Heard a rumor some of mine are still loose, wanna see if we can meet up with them.”

“I’m taking Watch,” Tooth says. “Got nowhere to go, but we’re a pair.”

Lucinda nods.

“Siri?” she asks, quiet. Siri is still sitting still, staring down at her textbook.

“I’ll go with you. I’m still too valuable to the Legion to risk trying to make it on my own, and you could use my medical skills.”

“You got a crush,” Dredge adds, laughs. “Any of us could use you. You got a crush, and you been moping.”

“I have not,” Siri replies. She wrinkles her nose and half-glares at Dredge, but she can’t put any venom behind it. “You all know I’m no good in a fight.”

“You go with her,” Twist says, quiet. “The rest of us won’t need you quite as much.”

“So when do we leave?” Dredge asks.

“As soon as you’re all packed.” Twist turns toward the house. “As for me, I’m going tonight or tomorrow morning.”

Runner shrugs, looks at Drummer and Burn.

“Tonight,” Drummer says. “I only got the one bag.”

“Same,” Burn agrees.

“In the morning,” Tooth says, looks to Watch, who nods. “Keep watch until you're all out of sight, and then we’ll leave.”

Lucinda looks at the women, nods.

“We should leave tonight, too,” Siri says, closes her textbook. “Especially if they’re going to crucify you as soon as they catch you. That means they’ll crucify all of us, for being associated with you.”

“Yeah, it does,” Lucinda agrees. “I’m sorry.”

“Ain’t nobody here dying,” Dredge replies, scoops up her baby and settled her in the crook of her arm. “Ain’t nobody dead, and ain’t nobody gonna end up that way. Get your shit together and get ready to go, that’s all there is to it.”

Lucinda nods. 

“Someone asked me to kill Caesar for her, while I was--in jail. I agreed, and she got me out.”

“Don't wanna know, Boss,” Dredge replies, shakes her head. “Less I know, less I can accidentally give away, thought we talked about this.” She grins at Lucinda, and Lucinda grins back.

“Right. I guess what I was saying was--maybe I’ll see any of you again?”

“Not me,” Twist says from the front steps. “I’m gonna move back to the NCR, settle down with a dog, grow corn, you will never see me again.”

Drummer and Burn both nod, and Tooth and Watch look at each other and shrug.

“Might see you around, someday, if you’re goin’ back to your tribe,” Dredge offers. Gonna see if I can’t track down who of us is still left, figure there’s gotta be a lot of us. Always survived before, figure we survived now too.”

“Me, too,” Runner says. “Especially if I find any of mine, and we can get out of the reach of the Legion.”

Birdy shrugs, doesn’t look at Lucinda.

Photo cracks open her camera, scrambles for her camera bag.

“Here,” she says, approaches holding a half dozen rolls of film. “I can't make the pictures nice, but maybe--maybe you can find someone to do it? And anyway you should have all these photos, since they're about you.”

“Thanks,” Lucinda says takes the handful of rolls, tucks them into her backpack. “Before you all leave, let me--let me pay you, at least. You’ve earned your wages, maybe you can spend them somewhere while you’re running. I won’t have any use for it, at the very least.”

The others look at each other, shrug, nod.

“I’ll start packing,” Siri says, and Lucinda nods, looks around the fire again, and then heads for the house.


End file.
